


Scandal at Stone Manor

by smalltonystark



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cougar!Tony, Infidelity, Kidnapping, Legal Drama, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Power Bottom Tony Stark, Rich People Gossiping, Smug Displays of Wealth, everyone's an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltonystark/pseuds/smalltonystark
Summary: Anthony Stone, née Stark, is bored out of his mind waiting for his husband to get his act together and pretend to be halfway decent at politics. When Tiberius decides to cheat on him instead, well, Tony never claimed to be above petty revenge.Enter Steve Rogers, 23 years old, a failed football star, and the Stone Manor's new poolboy.There's always trouble brewing under the surface, however, as Ty decides that maybe, just maybe, he'd be better off as a widower. Sympathy does a lot to swing an election.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Sunset Bain/Tiberius Stone, Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone
Comments: 51
Kudos: 166





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chapter fic, woo! I hope you guys like scummy politicians, white collar crimes, and Tony being a certified Rich Bitch because this will (hopefully) have that in spades.
> 
> A note about the infidelity tag: at no point will Steve and Tony cheat on each other. 
> 
> The major inspiration for this work was isozyme on Tumblr who wrote one (1) post about Tony being a maneating cougar. Thank you isozyme, this AU has been living rent-free in my head for days. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you to Desdaemona, Aisu_Hawk, and LovelyIKnow on Discord for the beta!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Desdaemona and LovelyIKnow on Discord for the beta!

_Present day_

Tony Stark does not get stressed easily. He, ostensibly, has the ideal life: a loving relationship, a massive home with a pool and a garden, and no need for money. Because he is _absolutely not stressed_ , he’s sipping a large glass of his favorite rosé at ten o’clock in the morning while listening to the television broadcast of his ex-husband being tried for insurance fraud, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder. 

Steve, understanding of the situation, sits next to Tony and waits with him quietly. As the judge hands Tiberius Stone the sentence, 25 years in prison with a quarter of a million dollars in fines, Tony curls his free hand around Steve’s, and lets loose a breath that he’s been holding for the past 15 years. 

***

_Two years earlier_

Tony Stark became Anthony Stone when he was 20 years old. Tiberius had insisted on the name change. Something about a show of unity that would look good for his political career. 

The problem was, Ty wasn’t, and still isn’t, a good politician. He isn’t a good husband, either. Tony has spent countless nights cursing Ty’s limp dick, his gin breath, and his adamant refusal to learn the most basic facts about the man he’s been sleeping next to for over a decade. At this point, Tony might vote for Sunset Bain out of spite, not just because she’s going to win in a landslide. 

“I got you roses,” says Ty, in that insufferable smug tone of his, like he’s done Tony any favors by bringing him perishable and delicate flowers that he’s allergic to into the house. Tony wonders what he’s trying to butter him up for this time. 

“They’re perfect,” he replies flatly, handing them to Ana so that she can find a vase for them and keep them far away from him. He goes to wash his hands of the pollen, hoping to prevent his eyes from getting red and puffy this time. 

“So, I was thinking-” 

_Oh here we go_ , Tony thinks, already resigned to the fight they’re going to have after this plan of Ty’s inevitably blows up in his face.

“-I need you to call that Potts woman for me. Have her arrange something at Stark Expo where I can do some networking. And put in a good word for me this time, will you?”

He sighs. Of course. This comes up like clockwork every six months, and every six months Pepper says “I’m not helping that man delude himself, Tony! Why won’t you just divorce him?”

As if he could actually make Ty admit that they haven’t worked as a couple for years. 

So just like last time, Tony plasters on his most sympathetic smile and says “Of course I can, but just manage your expectations a little, okay? It’s a big company and they don’t let a lot of other people advertise at their events.”

Ty’s entire face goes a blotchy red, his features contorting into an ugly snarl, and before they can start their third screaming match of the day, Tony grabs his robe and goes to the pool to do some reading. _Oh Danielle Steel, please take me away from here_ , he mentally whines, opening up to the page where Alex the spy and Richard the pilot finally have a moment alone together. 

It’s been so much easier to read through Ms. Steel’s oeuvre than to do anything else, lately. His robots must miss him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees one of Ty’s cars pull out of the garage and speed down the street, probably off to complain to one of his friends about his bitch of a husband who doesn’t do anything to help him and is deliberately sabotaging his career. 

_What an asshole_ is the last thing that crosses Tony’s mind about Ty as he calls for Jarvis to bring him some wine, and settles back into his lounge chair to read about how Alex and Richard survived their trip to Moscow. 

***

He’s being cheated on. There’s some cheap, waxy lipstick on Ty’s coat, which means he’s being cheated on. 

Tony knows about makeup; he’s been in front of cameras his whole life, and it’s important to look good. That means he would never, _never_ use this garish, neon pink, Crayola-esque monstrosity on himself. Maybe he’d buy it for Pepper, as a joke, but never for himself. The same principle applies to the sickly-sweet burnt caramel perfume that’s permeated the coat. 

He’s almost offended. Ty is not only sleeping around, but he’s sleeping around with someone who doesn’t even have good taste. The least he could do is find someone that doesn’t buy their beauty supplies from the convenience store’s clearance section. 

His husband, the rat bastard, is about three hours away from coming home, so Tony has some time to think. He could yell and scream, which would make him feel better in the short term, sure, but he has to think about the long term. 

Ty’s gearing up for yet another senatorial campaign. The last thing he could use right now is a scandal, which is something he’s told Tony many, many times over. They’d even gotten into a fight about it when Tony wore a dark red suit to an event instead of the traditional black, but that wasn’t a _real_ scandal. The press had mostly talked about how good he’d looked, and how he was setting trends for men’s fashion everywhere. 

Oh no, Tony will _show him_ what a real scandal looks like. 

Step one starts with asking Ty’s permission to do something. This is always irritating and goes against the very fibre of his being, but he needs to be able to say that Ty was on board with it, should he get angry. 

When Ty comes through the door, Tony gives him his space at first, as usual, but when they sit down together to have yet another painfully silent dinner, he pounces. 

“Honey, you know how Jarvis is getting a bit old?” Tony is proud of himself for not gagging around the term of endearment. 

Ty swallows a bite of tenderloin before saying “Yeah, what about it? People age, Anthony.”

God, this man is so dense. He’s going to enjoy permanently destroying his media relations. 

“Of course, but I was thinking, well, I saw him struggling a bit with the gardening today. I was hoping we could hire someone else to help him out. I’d like him and Ana to be able to retire, eventually.”

Ty snorts, takes a sip of his scotch, then says the best thing he could say: “What do you mean by ‘we’? You do it. I’m busy right now with my campaign, you know this.”

On the inside, Tony is cackling with mad glee, _oh you fucking idiot! You deserve what I’m going to do to you just because of how stupid you’ve proven yourself to be! This is going to be_ such _a lovely trainwreck, Jesus Christ._

On the outside, Tony says “sounds good,” and goes back to eating. 

***

The ad goes out a day later. 

**_Position: Stone Manor secondary gardener, cleaner, and manual laborer_ **

_Responsibilities:_

  1. Cleaning and maintenance of pool and hot tub.
  2. Cleaning and maintenance of backyard and patio.
  3. Care and maintenance of garden, including pest control.



_Requirements:_

  1. Able to lift upwards of 150 lbs regularly.
  2. Able to work outdoors for upwards of 5 hours a day.
  3. Personable.



_To apply:_

  * Email CV to [aestone@senate.gov](mailto:aestone@senate.gov) with the heading “[Full name] Application”
  * Must include headshot as well as pictures of front and back of body in email.
  * Must include a personal statement in the form of a cover letter.



After a month of having the posting up, Tony sifts through the applications on his tablet while also monitoring an auction he’s participating in; someone is foolishly selling a lovely Tuscan villa for only $2.2 million and he needs it.

He doesn’t bother reading any of the actual resumés, Jarvis can teach any idiot how to use fertilizer and mow the lawn. No, he skips right to the good part. He rejects a few based on their faces, and a lot more based on their asses and biceps. Finally, he’s narrowed it down to three that seem promising. This is when he gets into the letters. 

First, there’s Thor, some Norwegian exchange student who always wanted to make it big in America through male modelling but didn’t make the cut. Tony thinks it’s a pity he didn’t send the application link over to a few of his friends that _did_ make it, because holy hell, the man is stunning. He went to school in Europe, though, which probably means he’s smart. Tony isn’t looking for smart, he needs young, dumb and gorgeous. 

The price of the villa has gone up to $2.5 million. Tony places another bid and moves onto Promising Candidate #2, James Barnes, or Bucky, as his friends apparently call him. 

Tony gets to the part of his letter about him going through anger management and learning to deal with his emotions to stay calm and rejects that one, as well. Tony needs someone he can play like a fiddle. He _doesn’t_ need someone that will talk him out of this admittedly very petty plan. 

The villa’s price has jumped up to $4 million. Someone else apparently needs it more than Tony, which is frankly impossible. Tony ups the ante and bids $6 million. Surely no one else is going to top him.

Finally, there’s Steve Rogers. First of all, Steve was a frat boy who studied at SUNY Albany, immediately marking him as a meathead whose mind is semi-coherent at best, and worse after a few Bud Lights. Steve is also a football star who couldn’t go pro. The implied sustained brain damage suits his needs perfectly. Lastly, Steve thought it was appropriate to say that he ended his last serious relationship and quit his last job all at the same time, and is looking for a fresh start. 

While Tony was salivating over the possibilities of fucking with Ty using this blonde, painfully athletic fool, the auction for the villa ended, someone else having taken it at the last second for $6.3 million. Tony is too enamored with Steve to care. There was probably something wrong with the place if the price was that low, anyways. 

He emails the lucky candidate back, congratulating him and asking him to start on Monday, 8 AM sharp, and lets his auto-reply algorithm take care of the rest. After a long, hard day of figuring out step one of his revenge, he leaves a message for an old friend before heading to bed.

“Hey Rhodey, it’s me. Can you come over tomorrow? Bring the divorce paperwork.”

He strips, slips on his night robe, and lies facing away from Tiberius, who is already fast asleep, no doubt unaware of what’s happening in his own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter done! Stay tuned for the next one where Steve and Rhodey show up and Tony gets his flirting tips from The Game by Neil Strauss.


	2. Acts of Licentious Harlotry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Steve shows up, there are shenanigans with the pool, Jarvis is judgmental, and Ty is up to something.
> 
> Thank you to Aisu_Hawk on Discord for the beta!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, functionally, an excuse for me to write about Tony being thotty and Steve being a himbo. Hope you like it!

For the first time in years, Tony gets out of bed before Ty.

It’s ridiculous, but he’s actually nervous to see his new poolboy today. He’s buzzing with the same frenetic energy that he imagines teenagers going to prom must have before their dates come by in a rented limo and slightly-crushed corsage. His heart’s beating triple-time, and he has to take deep, full breaths to calm down. The last thing he wants is to look like he cares; that’s the magic of making someone fall for you and agree to help you cheat on your husband, it’s paramount that it looks low-effort. 

That’s why, after he showers, using his  _ nice _ hair mask and bodywash, the kind that smell like a tropical vacation, he doesn’t go for a three-piece suit or even his standard silk button-down, dress pants, and Italian loafers. No, he goes straight to his collection of robes. 

He sorts through them quickly, mentally noting each of their pros and cons, _ too much lace, too little lace, too short, not short enough, and why do I still have the one with feathers? This isn’t the 80s for God’s sake _ , until he finds what he deems to be The One. 

It’s bright red,  [ opaque charmeuse ](https://www.neimanmarcus.com/p/vivis-gloriana-silk-short-robe-prod224790523?childItemId=NMI1ULE_60&navpath=cat000000_cat000001_cat58290731_cat45900739&page=0&position=20) , and stops at his mid-thigh, exposing his tanned legs. No lace, but he doesn’t think he needs that yet. As a final touch, he runs a little bit of pomade through his hair, and heads out through the back door to wait. 

***

Sam tries his damndest to convince Steve to not go to Stone Manor that morning.

“Steve, come on, you can’t be serious.” Sam doesn’t understand why Steve can’t see the  _ very obvious  _ red flags all over this whole thing. 

“Why not? I need the money, and how hard can gardening be?” Steve’s been living on Sam’s couch for the past few months, and would really,  _ really  _ like to not be living on Sam’s couch. It’s not that he doesn’t like Sam, it’s that he hates feeling like a burden. 

“Why? This entire thing  _ screams _ organ-harvesting plot! They’re looking for young, fit men from poor backgrounds that are looking for an escape from their current situation, use your head!”

At this point, even if Tiberius and Anthony Stone  _ are _ looking to steal his organs, he thinks that it’ll be better than watching Golden Girls reruns during the day and stocking shelves at the grocery store at night. 

“It’ll be fine, Sam, don’t worry about me! Besides, now that I’m moving out, maybe you could move in Sarah, I know she’s been looking for a place.”

Steve takes his bags to his car, ignores Sam’s panicked yelling, and drives to Stone Manor. 

***

When Steve gets to the wrought iron gates that surround the property, there’s a tall, lean man with a bald head there to open them and welcome him in. He introduces himself as Edwin Jarvis, and leads Steve to the shed where the gardening tools are, and to the small cottage on the property where he’ll be staying. 

They walk by the massive, bright blue pool, and that’s when he first sees him: Anthony Stone. 

He’s lying back and reading on a deck chair, sunglasses on, one leg bent to make the thin, bright red robe he’s wearing slip down his thighs. Steve is staring openly at him, mouth hanging open, wanting to call out and introduce himself, but Mr. Jarvis (who later tells him that it’s just Jarvis) calls him over and tells him that he’ll be taking care of that very same pool this morning, and then pruning the hedges in the afternoon.

_ Right, I’m not here to ogle my very happily married boss _ , he thinks, as he grabs the skimmer and gets to work, clearing the light scattering of leaves from the pool’s surface, working his way around the edge. As he gets to the other side, where Mr. Stone is sunning himself, he gets to hear his voice for the first time, quiet but deep and commanding, the kind of voice that informs him that Mr. Stone is a man who’s used to taking what he wants.  _ Not appropriate thoughts to be having about a married man, Rogers _ , he tries to remind himself 

Unfortunately, the first thing he says to Steve is, “You’re blocking my sunlight.” 

Steve… doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just stutters out a, “Sorry, Mr. Stone,” and tries to work faster, having already embarrassed himself in front of the man whose home he’d be living and working in within the first hour of his new job. 

“You’re turning red. Are you allergic to chlorine? I thought you were informed that you’d be working around the pool very frequently.”  _ Oh God, I’m not gonna make it through my first day, am I?  _ He’s about to reply, “No, Mr. Stone, I’m not,” when he trips over a stray branch and falls face first into the water. 

He surfaces with a very undignified series of coughs, sputters, and gasps, and when he can get his eyes open, he sees Mr. Stone staring at him, sunglasses moved up on top of his head. He has the most gorgeous, ocean-blue eyes Steve has ever seen.

“Are you okay?”

Steve scrambles out of the pool, shirt and jeans clinging to his body, and says “I-- I need to change,” like a dumbass. 

Mr. Stone looks him up and down, no doubt with complete derision and says, “of course. Go ahead, I assume Jarvis already showed you your room?” 

Steve gives him a curt nod, and jogs off, shoes squelching unpleasantly as he crosses the lawn. 

***

It takes all of Tony’s restraint to not immediately spread his legs when he sees the new hire walking in with Jarvis. 

_ God, he’s even better than the pictures, that shoulder-to-waist ratio should be illegal _ , Tony is practically drooling over him at this point. He’s going to love showing him off in front of the paparazzi; Ty is going to be positively  _ livid _ .

He’s barely paying attention to his book at this point, too distracted by Steve’s massive fucking arms (Jesus, the seams of that smedium t-shirt he’s stuffed himself into must be screaming in agony) and with Rhodey’s promise to come over in a few weeks with the divorce paper drafts, because he has the audacity to have a ‘normal job’ and can’t ‘drop everything’ to ‘indulge’ another one of Tony’s ‘insane spur-of-the-moment ploys.’ 

_ Ugh, stupid best friend and his stupid law firm that requires him to travel across the country all of the time. Why can’t he just take full advantage of marrying into the idle rich? Ooh, Steve’s walking over, act cool, Stark. _

Tony peers at Steve over the edge of his sunglasses, the devilish Countess de Patin having her way with the grieving Christophe forgotten in favor of watching Steve’s back bend and shoulders flex. He stays silent, not wanting to blurt out anything stupid like ‘run away to the Italian countryside with me’ or ‘you look like a Grecian statue come to life.’ 

Instead, he watches Steve gather leaves from one side and cross over to his. At this point Tony has to make a deliberate effort to control his breathing because he can  _ see Steve’s ass _ . This is where he decides it’s time for his first play at seduction: negging. 

Rather than make small talk or try to get to know Steve like a boring person might, Tony opts for a cool, “You’re blocking my sunlight.”

He gets a, “Sorry, Mr. Stone,” which should  _ not _ be as attractive as it is. Tony doesn’t even  _ like _ being called by Ty’s last name, but somehow Steve makes the awkward formality sound sultry. The best part is, he doubts that Steve even knows what he’s doing to him, given that the other man is turning a gorgeous shade of pink all over his neck, shoulders, and presumably face, though Tony can’t see that at the moment. 

Having confirmed that Steve is both 1) attracted to him and 2) definitely not used to anyone he’s attracted to giving him attention, Tony ups the ante with “You’re turning red. Are you allergic to chlorine? I thought you were informed that you’d be working around the pool very frequently.”

_ I am going to eat this poor, unsuspecting jock alive, I almost feel bad for him.  _ Tony is giddy just imagining the possibilities. 

Steve makes a noise that sounds like he’s going to reply, but then some benevolent deity decides that Tony’s been a very good boy for the past few lifetimes and rewards him in the form of Steve falling into the deep end. 

Tony gave up religion a long time ago, but he thinks he hears God in the way Steve is gasping and choking. He wants to make Steve sound like that in a very, very different context. After a few seconds of indulging in the fantasy  of Steve on his knees, face ruddy and tears leaking out of his eyes as he swallows around Tony’s hard cock ,  _ much too soon for that, Anthony _ , Tony wills himself to get up and ask Steve if he’s okay. 

Steve, to his credit, recovers quickly, hopping out and oh  _ no _ , his nipples are hard. Tony’s self-control is straining; he wants to pinch them and hear what other delightful noises Steve can make, but he contents himself with just raking his eyes over Steve’s entire body. Steve, who is now asking him something, because Tony is supposed to be paying attention to the conversation. 

“--change,” is all he hears, but he can put together the rest based on context. He lets Steve go off to Jarvis and Ana’s cottage to change into something dry, and the entire time, he watches that perfect, pert ass as it bounces slightly. At that point, he has to lie back down, he’s gone more than a little weak in the knees. 

He calls over Jarvis, who is shaking his head at him.

“Are you quite finished?”

Tony scoffs a little, not enjoying being called out. “Finished with what?”

Jarvis gives him another eye roll, and if he wasn’t an old family friend Tony would tell him to fuck off. But since he is, Tony doesn’t say anything when Jarvis replies, “Finished mentally undressing our new staff member, sir.”

Tony can’t say anything, because that  _ was _ what he was doing, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try. 

“Let me have a little fun, J, I’m not going to  _ do _ anything!” he lies, like a liar. 

Jarvis, obviously unimpressed with his attempt at fooling him, simply says, “Your husband will be home in a few hours. Ana’s planning to make beef wellington, if you’d like to give any input on the sides?”

Tony shakes his head, and instead asks Jarvis to bring him a bottle of vermouth and some leftovers from the charcuterie board they had from Ty’s networking party a week prior. He’d opt for something stiffer, but it’s barely ten and he doesn’t want to look like a lush in front of his latest conquest. 

***

Ty comes home smelling like burnt caramel again, but this time he’s brought friends. Tony usually wouldn’t care, except that they don’t exactly look like politicians. They don’t have the slicked hair or oily smiles that Ty’s other acquaintances do. Instead, they look… drab. Boring. Like they think corrugated cardboard is exciting. 

It’s not like Ty to hang around boring people, it’s why he married Tony.

Tony doesn’t like boring people either, so he gives them a wide berth as they take over the living room, laying out their papers and discussing who knows what. He’ll pick the lock to Ty’s office and look at the forms later, he already plans on having sex with Steve in there at least once.

...plus Rhodey will probably need Ty’s personal information for the divorce proceedings. 

Tony heads to bed early, ignores the alarmed nagging voice in his head that says that something’s going on, and drifts off thinking of Steve’s sculpted abs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for Rhodey not being in this one; I got ahead of myself when I was looking at my outline and thought that chapter 3 was part of chapter 2. I'm in the process of writing that chapter currently. 
> 
> Next update will be on 7/13!


	3. Society Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey comes over and he and Tony indulge in Real Housewives of New York-esque behavior. Steve is horny but can't do anything about it, and Ty continues to be an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really, really got away from me. I think it's the longest one I've written so far, and it brought up my total words on AO3 to over 10k.

Steve doesn’t exactly know why Mr. Stone had Jarvis and Ana take the day off, but he’s definitely planning on complaining. They’re “receiving guests” today, which means he’s in charge of preparing food and drinks in addition to his usual work. 

He’s busy trying to baste an absurd amount of seared scallops with garlic-infused butter while also keeping an eye on the Parmesan risotto and mixing up a third pitcher of Long Island iced tea when the gates open and a single car drives in. 

Okay, so I might have cooked way too much food and made way too many cocktails. 

Before Steve can turn to look at who their -- evidently only -- guest is, Mr. Stone is bounding across the lawn, yelling “Rhodey! You showed up on time!” before embracing him in a hug and twirl. 

Steve turns around to see a Black man with short, cropped hair and a bright smile telling Mr. Stone to “get off of me and let me get some alcohol in me before we talk, you’re a menace, Anthony Stark,” trying to pry Mr. Stone off of him and walking toward the deck chairs. 

He’s never seen Mr. Stone (Stark?) this animated in his month of working at the manor, and he’s more than surprised at the sting in his chest that comes from seeing him be so affectionate with someone else. The man is literally married, his mind very unhelpfully reminds him. 

Mr. Stone has him bring them their drinks first, two highball glasses filled to the brim with far too much alcohol for two p.m., topped with a thin slice of lemon. Steve watches him chug the entire glass and demand another with mild horror. Mr. Rhodes, to his credit, doesn’t look surprised. 

Steve heads back to the grill to pack up at least half of the ribs as leftovers for his own lunch and dinner, when he hears Mr. Stone and Mr. Rhodes talking animatedly about something, and well, he can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation. 

“Did you hear that the Milligans couldn’t get their son into Andover?” 

“No, really? What harmed his application? Was it him stealing his neighbor’s golf cart and crashing it into the lake on their property? Or him starting a ‘secret society’ at his middle school that turned out to just be an excuse to smoke weed behind the tennis courts?”

“Oh but that’s not all, Tones! They had little Kyle’s great-uncle make a call to the dean, and suddenly the brat is a member of the incoming class!” 

“The same great-uncle that’s an oil baron in Texas?”

“The very same. But he’s also a governor now, so I guess that helped.”

A round of cackling follows, as does Mr. Stone yelling for Steve to bring them each another Long Island, this time with extra gin. Soon after, Steve becomes privy to more information.

“Hey, you know how everyone knows that Galina is a mail-order bride?”

“Duh, Lawrence is aging like unpasteurized milk, and there’s no way she’s with him because of his personality, of which he has none--”

“Well - and this is alleged, because I heard it from Laurene who heard it from Jacqueline - but the rumor is that he threatened to send her back to Ukraine because she didn’t make his drink right.”

Mr. Rhodes snorts at that, commenting, “How very in-character for him,” while finishing off his second drink in only a few minutes. 

“That’s not all, though! Apparently, she got so mad at him that the next time she made him his drink, she put arsenic in it, and that’s why he’s on an ‘extended vacation.’ He’s not on vacation, he’s in the hospital!”

The other man fully gasps at that, as does Steve, which earns him a sharp look from Mr. Stone, and a, “Are you listening in on our very important business conversation? Go get me another drink, and bring us something to eat.”

***

Tony watches Steve turn red and stammer out an, “I’m sorry Mr. Stone, right away,” before staging an orderly retreat to the grill to bring him and Rhodey their spare ribs. 

God, forget a quarter, you could bounce a silver dollar off that ass. I need to try that one day. 

“Damn, Stark, you sure know how to treat your boytoys,” apparently he’s been openly staring this whole time and now his best friend is mocking him, how dare he. 

“Oh, whatever. You would do the same if you and Carol weren’t so disgustingly perfect for each other.” He watches as Rhodey’s smile goes soft and wistful at the mere mention of his wife, ugh, Jesus, gross, happiness in matrimony. 

“Carol’s been so busy this past year, she finally got some time off so we can think about starting a family. We’re just waiting for this election season to wrap up, and we’ll start trying after the last charity gala of the year. That’s SI’s this time around, right?” 

Tony nods, and then to bring the conversation back to something he’s actually comfortable talking about (vapid and inane gossip about their colleagues), he says, “Speaking of boytoys, did you hear about what happened with Victor at the Connecticut Smith’s party?”

Rhodey looks intrigued by this, Tony’s finally hit upon a piece of gossip that his friend doesn’t know. 

See, I told you it was worth it to just stay in New York! You may be mentally and emotionally fulfilled by your career but I’m the one that knows that there are photos of Latverian royalty getting a lap dance from a male stripper on several people’s phones!

“Tell me more,” Rhodey says, leaning in. 

“Well, the Smiths had one of their little get-togethers and anyone who was anyone was invited, including Victor Von Doom, you know how he comes over here for the winter like a migratory bird?”

“I’m well aware, and you know how much I hate the Smiths because they’re all in bed with the gerrymandering snakes in the legislature.”

“We can talk about them being snakes later, but I have to tell you that Victor was having quite a bit of fun with the hired entertainment at the event. It was so nice of the Smiths to support local businesses like The Meat Locker!” 

Rhodey looks openly shocked about that; they both know that publicly, Victor Von Doom is both incredibly heterosexual, incredibly homophobic if Latverian penal codes are anything to go by, and incredibly happy in his marriage to the daughter of a wealthy marquess. 

Now is Tony’s time to gloat. “His marriage is a fucking sham, can you believe it? And we wonder why they haven’t had any children in ten years!”

“Hey, speaking of marriages that are shams, I fucking hate your husband.” 

There’s a profound silence for a fraction of a second, where Tony looks like he might be sick and Rhodey looks like the last thing he’s going to do is apologize.

“Come on, man. Why am I here, really? We don’t talk for months and suddenly you hired a… concubine? To be Jarvis’ understudy? And you want to start up the divorce again after you told me to drop it?”

“He’s cheating on me. You know that’s why I called, right?”

Rhodey looks at him with sympathy, gives him a very familiar, “Oh, Tones.”

“That’s why I hired Steven over there. I thought, ‘haha, let’s have some fun with the poolboy while I figure out my divorce, let’s make Ty jealous and sabotage his career,’ and I just…” His voice starts to crack while he struggles not to cry. 

Rhodey pulls him into a full-bodied hug as Tony lets himself be weak for five minutes. His mascara is going to be ruined, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“He promised me he wouldn’t cheat on me. That’s the one thing he promised to do and he did it anyway!”

Something that nobody knows about Rhodey except for Tony is that he was responsible for at least half of their exploits at MIT. So when Rhodey whispers a suggestion into his ear, well, Tony isn’t exactly surprised, but he is reminded of exactly why they’re best friends. 

“Hey, if you want to really sabotage his career, I know a private investigator. Two, actually; Romanov and Barton Company. They’re both ex-CIA. Really good. They could find out who he’s cheating on you with, drag his image through the mud a little.”

“You’d do that for me?” Tony knows he’s fishing for sympathy, but in this moment, he feels like he deserves it.

Rhodey gives him a lopsided, very drunk smile. “Of course, Tones. Us Real Housewives have to stick together.”

Objectively, the joke wasn’t funny, so it must be the third Long Island catching up with him that makes him break into a full-bodied cackle. 

***

Steve hears Mr. Stone and Mr. Rhodes laughing about something when he brings them their food. 

“Are you okay, Mr. Stone?” 

The other man pauses, rubs at his eyes, and wheezes out a, “yes, I’m fine, set the plates down.”

He’s nervous as he watches as Mr. Stone and Mr. Rhodes take a few tentative bites of the scallops and risotto; he’d never heard of half of the ingredients on the recipe that Ana had left him. The only saving grace he’d had during the ordeal had been the well-organized kitchen and Ana’s propensity for labels. 

Mr. Rhodes turns to Mr. Stone and says, “Well, if anything, at least you got a concubine that can cook! That’ll be useful, right?” 

This sets off another round of laughter, and makes the entire upper half of Steve’s body go bright pink. He makes the mistake of trying to defend himself and says, “I’m-- I’m just a gardener, sir. I’m not-- I don’t want to get in the way of Mr. Stone’s marriage. That would be inappropriate of me.” 

Both of them start laughing again, and Steve feels like he isn’t in on the joke, but he’s mortified at how turned-on he is at the idea of being Mr. Stone’s secret lover. 

“You make him call you Mr. Stone? Kinky.”

“Fuck no, I don’t! That’s not me, he did that himself!”

“Oh my God, only you would end up with a sexy pool boy that actually respects your marriage. How is this your life?”

“I don’t know, honeybunch, I think I’ve lost my touch. Remember college? I used to be able to pull half of frat row just by wearing the right shorts and doing some extra squats at the gym, and now look at me!” He drapes himself over his deck chair dramatically, like he’s fainted. 

Steve, somehow, feels his cheeks heat up even more at the way Mr. Stone’s legs are splayed and how he can see his entire thigh with how his robe is riding up. He tells himself he isn’t running away as he excuses himself to the cottage. 

Before he shuts the door, he hears Mr. Rhodes say, “Come on, Mrs. Robinson, you can get up now, you scared off your mistress.”

***

Both Tony and Rhodey are well-versed in the art of staggering up stairs while drunk, courtesy of their wild nights out at MIT (and by wild nights, Tony means sneaking into bars and seeing how many drinks they could convince sorority girls to buy for them). That doesn’t mean that it’s easy to get them both up the stairs and Rhodey into a spare bedroom.

They nearly trip on the stair runners as they make their way up to the second floor, and opening the door to one of the guest bedrooms is a seemingly insurmountable struggle. 

Rhodey passes out immediately once he’s in bed, and Tony makes a note to have Jarvis bring up some Advil and water for him later. Now, though? He needs to somehow make it back down the stairs and apologize to Steve on behalf of both Rhodey and himself. 

Shit, how could I have fucked up this early in the game? Usually I get through at least half of the plan without cocking it up this badly.

He hears Ty’s car coming in through the garage, and ignores it in favor of heading out to the cottage and pounding on the door. 

Steve answers it, looking… damp? Why is he damp?

“Oh shit I-- I’m so sorry, Mr. Stone. I was just uh, in the shower.”

Did I say that out loud? Jesus, I’m never drinking a Long Island again.

“Mr. Stone, you’re still talking to yourself.” Right. The conversation that he was supposed to have with Steve. 

“Steve, I’m here to apologize for my behavior. It was unbecoming of me.”

Steve looks a little sad, for some reason, but he continues.

“Also, please excuse my friend. Rhodey’s been with me since college, and he usually doesn’t call people concubines to their faces.”

“I would hope not,” Steve says, with a tone drier than the Sahara desert. God, he’s hot when he’s sarcastic. 

Just then, Ty decides to make his presence known by yelling for Tony to get inside. Tony holds back a frustrated noise and settles for looking at Steve and asking, “Are we okay, then? You’ll be fine continuing your employment here?”

Steve nods, and Tony turns to head in and see what Ty’s decided to be mad about today, swaying slightly from the alcohol catching up with him. Or he would have, if his legs had decided to cooperate.

***

Steve’s just finished jerking off to the thought of being Mr. Stone’s kept man, the images of feeding him grapes by hand and warming his cock with his mouth setting his libido on fire, when he hears someone slamming their fist against the door of the cottage. 

Steve towels off slightly, throws on a loose pair of sweatpants and his old SUNY Albany T-shirt, and opens it to see the object of his fantasies staring at him, robe falling off his shoulders. 

“Why are you damp?”

Steve, for the hundredth time that day, flushes bright red. He can’t ever let Mr. Stone find out exactly what he was doing, he’d be fired in an instant. He goes with a half-truth instead. 

“Oh shit I-- I’m so sorry, Mr. Stone. I was just uh, in the shower.” The embarrassment of this moment does nothing to make him stop wanting the other man to slam him against the wall and kiss him senseless. 

“Did I say that out loud? Jesus, I’m never drinking a Long Island again.”

The man must be incredibly drunk. In all his time working here, Steve’s never seen Mr. Stone this out of it. Maybe he was a little heavy-handed with the gin in those cocktails. 

“Mr. Stone, you’re still talking to yourself.”

He blinks, and then seems to remember where he is before saying, “Steve, I’m here to apologize for my behavior. It was unbecoming of me.”

Oh. Of course. Mr. Stone wasn’t actually trying to seduce him, he has… a successful husband. Generational wealth. The love and adoration of the press. He doesn’t need Steve. 

“Also, please my friend. Rhodey’s been with me since college, and he usually doesn’t call people concubines to their faces.”

Steve had figured it was the alcohol talking, there. Still, he says, “I would hope not.”

He hears Mr. Stone’s husband yelling from inside the house, but Mr. Stone doesn’t move. Just looks vaguely annoyed and asks Steve if he’s okay with still working at the manor, which he obviously is. He needs money, and aside from days like this, the job is pretty low-stress.

Seemingly satisfied, the other man turns around and promptly passes out in the grass. 

“Oh my God! Mr. Stone? Mr. Stone wake up!” Steve rushes out to him, trying to shake him awake, and when that doesn’t work, turn him over onto his side. 

Mr. Stone’s husband walks out into the backyard, then, and looks at Mr. Stone like he’s a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. 

“Did he pass out? Jesus fuck, one of these days I’m just gonna leave him out here and see what happens.” This is the first thing he’s ever heard the man -- Tiberius, his mind supplies -- say, and Steve instantly dislikes him. 

The other man turns to address him and snaps at him, “Well, don’t just sit there, get him inside. I assume his friend will be staying over, seeing as they both can’t handle their liquor?”

Steve hefts Mr. Stone up onto his shoulder and carries him through the back door. Tiberius leads him up the stairs, directs him to the master bedroom (“all the way at the end of the hallway, next to the portrait of us together”), and then disappears down a corridor to “work on something.”

He sets the other man down on the bed, turns him so he’s on his side rather than on his back, and brushes some errant strands of hair out of his face. He looks absolutely breathtaking, usually, but somehow, like this, relaxed and asleep, he looks like a living work of art. 

Steve is hesitant to leave the man alone, but he doesn’t want to be caught half-hard staring at another man’s sleeping husband, so he turns off the lights, closes the door, and heads back into the hallway to take himself back to the cottage.

The picture of both of the Stones stares at him when he exits the bedroom, both of them looking regal and severe in their matching suits and cold expressions. He tamps down on his emotions and tells himself that any flirtation he picked up on from Mr. Stone was entirely his imagination running wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Ty gets a chance to explain himself and Steve gets dragged to brunch. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated :D


	4. Excuses and Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiberius gets a chance to explain himself to someone, and Tony and the gang go to brunch together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, another slightly longer update! Yet again this chapter got away from me. This week was a Lot for me (So. Many. Physics. Assignments.), so I'm just glad that I got this out on time. Hope you enjoy!

Marrying into the Starks seemed like a good idea, 17 years ago. No, really.

Before Howard Stark sold weapons to the US government during a wildly unpopular war, before Obadiah Stane was arrested for embezzling, insider trading, and fraud, before they made that frigid fucking _bitch_ Virginia Potts their CEO, it had seemed like an excellent idea. So much so that it gave Ty hope for his career, made him think that he really had a shot at the Senate, if only he had connections to that world.

Enter Tony Stark, 20 years old, fresh out of MIT’s PhD program, and absolutely gorgeous, if a little scruffy around the edges. Nothing a few nudges from his adoring husband towards the spa couldn’t fix.

But of course, _Howard_ had to cock everything up. First by deciding that he really, really needed another billion dollars of government money, next by cashing out his stock and retiring to the Italian countryside with his wife, then by letting that shady bastard Obadiah run his company into the ground, and finally by letting his board let a woman be CEO, for fuck’s sake.

And guess who married into this publicity nightmare? Tiberius Stone.

Oh sure, Tony was different from his father, had no interest in the company, just wanted to tinker with his robots and play housewife. But he still had the damn last name. Or did, before Ty convinced him to change it. Together, they told the press that it was because they were in love. He told Tony that it was for Tony’s own benefit, didn’t he _hate_ his father, didn’t he _want_ to get away from Howard’s legacy?

But really, it was done on the off-chance that people would slowly forget that he was a Stark in-law, a fact that had been murdering his polling numbers until only very recently. This new crop of young voters, born shortly after the entire shitshow, would be his ticket to power.

In those 17 years of managing a floundering political career, his jackass of a husband has decided to basically stop pretending to give a shit about their marriage. Their last public appearance together was six years ago, and the man’s chronic headaches always conveniently show up whenever they manage to go to bed at the same time, so no sex, either.

So can you _really_ blame Tiberius for finding pleasure in the only place he could? Is it really his fault that he’s undressing Sunset Bain in her Manhattan office and letting her nails claw up his back while she leaves bright pink lipstick kisses all over his neck?

Maybe. But Ty doesn’t really give a shit. Not when Sunset’s telling him to _go harder, fuck me harder,_ like Tony never does.

***

After, they’re lying on the couch that Sunset has in her waiting room, door locked to prevent her secretary from coming in and seeing them both half-dressed. He’s smoking one of her imported cigars, the kind that Tony’s asshole butler won’t let him keep in the house because they ‘irritate Master Tony’s asthma,’ like that’s a real thing that Tony has. No, Tiberius thinks bitterly, it’s probably just another thing Tony made up because he hates seeing him happy.

Sunset runs her nails through his hair, and he leans into the touch. “What are you angry about today, dear?” she croons into his ear, breath tickling his neck.

He knows that Sunset’s office is a dead zone; nothing he says here will make it back to anyone he knows, so he opens up readily.

“Are you ever with someone for so long that you just… resent them taking up space and oxygen?”

Sunset looks puzzled, but then her face clears up, as she says “It’s about Anthony, isn’t it? Still haven’t found the right way to end it?”

Ty leans back against her, sighs, and shakes his head. “If you have any ideas, and I mean _any_ ideas about how to do this without getting eviscerated by the Post for letting my marriage fail, let me know.”

She, perplexingly, smiles. She doesn’t have a very kind smile, hers is sharp, secretive, like she knows something that he doesn’t. He hates feeling like he’s being left out of something, it’s part of the reason he spends so much time away from Tony. Him and that damned intellect, always lording it over him like he’s God’s gift to Earth because he’s a few standard deviations above the average--

He’s about to yell at her to just spit it out when she says “You know, the Post is always kind to widowers.”

Ty’s blood runs cold. Surely she’s not suggesting that he _kill_ Tony, right? He hates the man for ruining his life, but not enough to kill him over it, surely?

She laughs, in that vaguely fae way of hers, where it’s cold and humorless. “Calm down, Tiberius. You don’t need to pick up a knife and get all Hitchcockian with Anthony during his shower. That’s what you hire people for.”

One of her hands slides down Ty’s back pocket, squeezes his ass, and slips him a business card. He gets up from the couch to take a better look at it.

“The Mandarin? Who the hell is this guy?”

“Someone who knows how to get things done. This probably won’t get through your thick skull, so I’ll have my people call you. You know how angry you were when you found out that Howard had locked you out of Anthony’s trust fund?”

Ty _does_ remember. He remembers screaming at Tony about it for weeks, accusing Tony of not trusting him, of being the exact stereotype of a spoiled little rich boy that everyone thought he was. And he remembers dropping it after Tony told him that he’d give him enough money to build Stone Manor _and_ bring over his servants.

She studies his face, obviously pleased. “I see you do recall. Well, this could fix everything. We’re not doing anything particularly terrible, just a little bit of insurance fraud and conspiracy to kidnap.”

Ty hesitates, then thinks about this logically. He has great lawyers and a ton of money, Tony made sure of that. In the worst case scenario, if they get caught, he’ll probably be able to post bail and walk free, even if he would technically have a couple of felonies under his belt. It’s not the worst thing that a politician’s ever done.

“Alright,” he nods, then says “but if this goes tits-up and I end up rotting in a cell, I want you to pass that anti-union bill that I wrote.”

***

Tony knows that he’s got Steve wrapped around his finger when the man agrees to accompany him to brunch. He honestly can’t wait to see some good pictures of him and Steve in a gossip rag; he just _looks_ like the kind of man you cheat on your husband with.

He’s roped Happy into driving them to his favorite little French place where he’s made reservations with all of his friends. They all know that he’s bringing a date, and have undoubtedly been circulating some wonderfully fantastical rumors.

When they arrive, Laurene, with very wide eyes, waves them over to their usual private table, with her, Betty, Jacqueline, and Rhodey. Bringing Steve has already had the intended effect.

“Anthony, you goddamn cradle-robber!” Jacqueline cackles, as the server brings them their mimosas and Tony takes his seat, pulling Steve closer to him.

“Aww, he’s so cute! What’s your name, sweetheart?” And that would be Laurene doing her best impression of someone who _didn’t_ spend the better part of the week having her lawyers dig up every dirty secret that Steve Rogers has.

Steve goes a stunning shade of pink and introduces himself to the table, who are openly gawking at him like he’s a frog on a dissection tray. The interrogation starts when Betty asks Steve what sport he played in college, unsubtly eyeing up his muscles, and poor, naive Steve, makes the mistake of assuming that she wants an honest answer.

“I played football, ma’am,” he says, like a fool. Tony really should have coached him on how to navigate conversations with this crowd.

“Oh my, I _love_ watching the sport, my husband and I have box seats at the Super Bowl! Not to mention all of those strapping young men in leggings, absolutely to die for. That reminds me, James, do you remember that horrid little woman that the owner of the Eagles was dating for a while? Well, they got married, and she wore just the most _unique_ dress, I mean, I could _never_ be brave enough to wear something like that if I knew there would be pictures!”

Betty passes around her phone so everyone can look at the monstrosity that Jeff’s now-wife decided to wear to their wedding, and Tony has to agree, it _was_ very brave of her to wear that in public.

The server brings around their menus, and asks if they’d like an explainer for the pastries. Steve looks like he wants to ask for one, but Laurene waves him off, telling him “Just ask Tony, he’ll explain it to you,” that _wretch_ , she knows he has no patience for explaining things. She’s going to pay for this.

He puts on a smile and looks at Steve with an expression that he hopes reads as ‘comforting,’ before telling him “We’ll start with oysters, a platter of Fischer’s Island. Get him…” he considers Steve’s physique and general lack of ability to distinguish good alcohol from bad, then says “The green juice plus a bowl of café au lait to drink.”

Steve looks mildly disgusted by the concept of oysters for breakfast, but Tony can’t bring himself to care, right now, he needs revenge on Laurene for slighting him. He gets his opportunity when he hears her say “So what’s everyone getting?”

Laurene is at the “on” phase of her on-again off-again diet, which means she’ll be getting the egg white omelette, otherwise known as the saddest thing on the menu, reserved only for models who are having a cheat day. Tony can make her livid by just ordering his usual, times two to account for his guest, of course. He bides his time for now, listening to the ambient chatter of “Did you hear that he’s bribing the school board?” and “Well, that house is a little ostentatious, don’t you agree?”

Speaking of his guest, Steve is scanning through the aperitif and starters menu, very obviously trying to find something that he recognizes. Jacqueline must sense his confusion like a shark senses blood in the water, because she takes this opportunity to ask “So, Steven, where are you from?”

Before Tony can save him by answering for him, Steve opens his mouth to say “Brooklyn, ma’am, but I went to SUNY Albany for college.” Oh God, he gave her extra information. This is going to be terrible.

Jacqueline gasps, says “Oh, my husband _adores_ the SUNY system! It gives so many underprivileged youth the chance to become something. Not to mention how hands-on the education is. Everyone there is so delightfully honest, you know?” Tittering from around the table informs him that everyone agrees.

Rhodey, bless him, redirects her focus away from Steve with a “While we’re on the subject of college, did you hear that Harwell's son ended up at Brown?”

A round of sympathetic sighs echo around the table, with Jacqueline chiming in again, “That’s so awful. He was so bright, and now he’s stuck at a _lesser_ Ivy? Poor dear, it’s a good thing his father owns 51% of the firm, I don’t know where he’d end up otherwise.”

Rhodey shoots him a look that says _keep your boy-toy in check, Stark!_ Which makes Tony shoot him one right back that says _I’m trying to!_

Tony decides the best way to do this is to distract Steve, who at this point is looking more than a bit uncomfortable. He’s… pouting? The expression he’s making can be best described as pouting. Engaging him in a conversation might make him pout less, and will have the added benefit of making anyone who interrupts them look jealous and desperate for attention.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hmm?”

Before Steve has a chance to answer, the server comes back with their oyster platter, everyone’s mimosa refills, and Steve’s green juice and coffee. _Time for some theatrics,_ Tony thinks, as he asks Steve “Have you ever had oysters, dear?”

Steve, in his delightfully Steve-esque way, says “I had clam chowder in Massachusetts, does that count?”

Tony takes one of the half-shells from the platter and hands it to Steve, who is staring at the shellfish like it might come back to life and try to kill him. “Well? Go on then, try it!”

Everyone at the table is looking at them now, some with amusement, like Steve is a clumsy exotic pet that Tony’s getting to perform a trick, but Rhodey is watching intently, trying to see if Steve will pass some sort of esoteric, unbeknownst-to-him test.

Apparently, being watched inspires something in the other man, because he douses the oyster in lemon and sucks it down in one gulp, swallowing aggressively and scrunching up his face and nose as the briny taste hits him. Tony hears Laurene barely conceal her laughter, while Betty and Jacqueline aren’t even trying to do the same, openly laughing.

“Tony, I want one, where’d you find him? Do they sell more of him on JamesEdition?”

“Sorry, Jackie, finders-keepers. And he’s one of a kind, no replicas. Kind of like that Berkin that Nathaniel's boyfriend bought him, you know, the ugly one?”

Rhodey chimes in, “Be polite Tones, they’re not ugly! They’re just very... nouveau-riche. Statement pieces. Because that’s something those types of people need, obviously.”

“I was talking about the boyfriend, not the bag!”

The entire table laughs at that, including Steve, who’s looking moderately less sulky. The sulk returns, however, when their server takes away their now-empty plate of oysters, refills their drinks, and brings them the full brunch menu.

Or, well, they would have gotten the full brunch menu, if Laurene, being the evil witch that she is, didn’t have the nerve to say “You can take those away, everyone here knows what they want, don’t we, ladies? Gentlemen?”

Tony can’t make a scene without drawing attention to himself or Steve, who’s wound tighter than Betty’s pin curls, so he nods, smiles, and whispers to Steve, “Don’t worry, I’ll order for you.”

This, for some reason, doesn’t make Steve less tense, but he doesn’t have time to consider it as the server looks at him intently.

“We’ll both get the eggs meurette and the brioche.” He just knows that Laurene is staring daggers at him for having the nerve to order poached eggs in front of her, ha, that’s what she gets for deciding to accompany her daughter to Paris Fashion Week this year.

The actual brunch is relatively tame from that point onward, with only Betty fishing for gossip and Rhodey easily able to curtail her with stories about Carol’s coworkers.

A healthy crowd of photographers have gathered by the doors of the restaurant by the time they get around to leaving, so Tony takes the opportunity to link arms with Steve as they walk out, sunglasses on and expression very carefully neutral. Multiple flashes go off, which makes Steve startle a bit and stumble slightly -- this lets him have Steve lean on him for support, something that will undoubtedly look enticing on the cover of a gossip rag.

Before Tony can slip off with Steve entirely, Rhodey flags them down, ushers them onto a busier street so they’ll have cover. “I hired the PIs, spoke with them last night. We should get an update within the next week or so. Is that okay?”

Tony gets a little misty-eyed, thank God for his sunglasses. “Have I ever told you that you’re an amazing friend and that I owe you my firstborn?”

Rhodey huffs out a laugh and pulls him into a hug. “I don’t want your firstborn, Carol and I don’t have time for kids. I _want_ to see you get away from your demon of a husband. I’ll text you any updates I get, okay?”

He jogs off, probably to head to his own car. Theirs is idling a few blocks down, doors unlocking as Happy sees them approaching. Steve lets out an audible sigh of relief as the doors shut and they start to drive off.

“Alright, spill. What’s going on? We didn’t get a chance to talk.”

Steve chews on his lip, anxious. “I just… I made a fool of myself, didn’t I, Mr. Stone?”

 _Is that all?_ “Oh honey, don’t worry about them, I’ll protect you from those vultures.”

Steve shakes his head, saying “You know I don’t fit in with any of them, with you and Mr. Rhodes. I’m just some loser who went to a state school and doesn’t know what ‘pleh-tew de fru de mar’ is. I’m just your gardener, pool boy, manual laborer, whatever.”

Oh. So it runs deeper than common embarrassment, then. Tony doesn’t handle feelings too well, but for Steve… for Steve he’ll make an effort.

“Listen. I don’t care that you’re not from this whole scene, alright? I care that you’re gorgeous, and handsome, and good-looking, and--”

Steve lets out a small laugh at that, “Creative writing wasn’t your best subject, I’m guessing?”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to laugh. “See, how can you say you don’t fit in when you know me so well? But really, you’re more than an employee to me. I think we can both sense it, no?” Tony inches closer to him and places a hand on his warm, muscular thigh. _Bless cheap suits and their thin fabrics._

Steve starts stammering, “M-Mr. Stone, I don’t understand? You’re married, and--” Tony’s had enough of playing mind games with this one. He doesn’t just want Steve, he’s _earned_ Steve, at this point.

“I think we’re well past last names, Steve. Call me Tony,” he says, before he brings their lips together in a heated kiss.

***

Steve didn’t know what he expected when he signed up for this job, but it certainly wasn’t being kissed by his boss in the backseat of his car.

They pull apart, loudly, Mr. Stone ( _‘He said call him Tony’_ his mind replies, unhelpfully) looking less than immaculate, which by his standards translates to wrecked beyond belief.

“Mr-- Tony. Tony we can’t do this, I mean, it’s not that I don’t _want_ to, I do, God, this is a dream come true, but I-- y-- won’t your husband find out?” He finishes lamely.

Tony scoffs at that, says “Tiberius couldn’t find his way to his own stylist if we didn't have Happy. Trust me, he won’t know. Plus, I’m nearly certain that he’s been having his own little dalliance with someone who’s far less expensive than I am, so I truly can’t bring myself to care.”

Well, that’s both concerning and relieving. Steve moves to start kissing Tony again, but the driver (Happy? His name can’t actually be Happy) tells him to “Keep it in your pants unless you wanna pay for the cleaning, I swear to God, this car costs more than your old house. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Tony."

_Does everyone that Tony surrounds himself with have it out for me, personally?_

“Your blushing is very endearing,” Tony tells him, kindly. His sunglasses are off, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. Steve doesn’t know if he’s ever seen eyes that shade of blue before.

They pull into the front gate, and Tony makes a beeline for the pool. “Get me a martini, will you?” He calls out, already reclining on one of the pool chairs.

“Didn’t you just have like, three mimosas?” Tony’s alcohol consumption is worrying to say the least. How is he not perpetually drunk?

“Yes, but those are breakfast drinks, Steven, now it’s time for my afternoon cocktail.” Tony says this like it's obvious, and Steve's the idiot for not intuiting this information. 

Steve rolls his eyes and heads to the now-familiar outdoor bar, grabbing a chilled glass from the miniature fridge, happy to forget about his harrowing day and get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter *might* be a day or so late just because I'm working on a fic for Lights on Park Avenue and I have a ton of stuff going on for school, apologies in advance! I hope you liked this chapter :D Comments and kudos always appreciated <3


	5. Disappearing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes to the spa and lots of trouble ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, but also a plot-heavy one. Mind the updated tags, and I hope you enjoy!

Ever since he and Tony officially came to terms with their, well, sneaking around, the other man has been throwing gifts at Steve like it’s his job. A new pair of shoes here, an upgrade to his old car there, and most recently a set of hair products that smells like the inside of an Abercrombie and Fitch but makes Steve’s hair feel smoother than it’s ever felt in his entire life. 

Steve doesn’t think too much of it until Tony’s husband brings it up one day when Tony’s out to the spa with his friends and the two of them are alone in the yard together. 

“Better not wear that in public, someone’ll try and mug you for it,” sneers Tiberius, gesturing towards the  [ watch ](https://www.zenith-watches.com/en_us/product/elite-moonphase-18-3100-692-01-c922) that Tony got him for his birthday. Steve doesn’t really get the joke, if there is one, it’s just a blue watch because Tony remembered that his favorite color was blue, and he tells Tiberius as much. 

“It was a birthday gift. Mr. Stone-- well, the  _ other  _ Mr. Stone -- is really thoughtful.”

“Oh I’m sure he acts like that with you. He’s nice to the fucking gardener and the orphans from St. Mary’s, but not his own husband. You can keep a secret, right?” Tiberius looks at him conspiratorially for a second, then laughs harshly. “What am I even saying? Of course you can. I mean, Anthony isn’t one for fraternization.”

The implication that it’s because of their respective social standings rings loud and clear to Steve. Tiberius isn’t nearly as subtle as Tony’s friends when it comes to taking digs at him. He bristles a little bit, but stays silent, which Tiberius takes as an opportunity to continue. 

“I’ve got a mistress.” At this, Steve nearly bursts out laughing, half-tempted to reply with  _ ‘And your husband’s courting me,’  _ but he needs to keep his job, so he just says “...Oh. That’s… well. My opinion doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Tiberius looks at him coldly. “No, it really doesn’t. Get back to… I don’t know what Anthony kept you around for, mowing the lawn? Snap to it, or I’ll have you fired.”

Steve bites back the scathing retort he has about how Tony’s the only one with any real authority at the manor, blinks twice, and grinds out a “Yes, Mr. Stone,” before grabbing a pair of garden shears to trim some of the pricklier hedges with. 

He can feel the other man staring daggers at him when his back is turned. 

***

Several hours later, after being on the receiving end of Tiberius Stone’s not-even-veiled barbs about his hometown, his education, his intelligence, and a heap of other things, all while doing more manual labor than he’s done since pledge week at Alpha Tau Omega, Steve’s fed up with the entire Stone family. 

He collapses into his bed inside the cramped spare room in the cottage, and tries to fall asleep early, but it’s futile. The Jarvises are still puttering about; it’s only 7 p.m., time for dinner and tea for the both of them, and the ambient noise of the television keeps Steve awake. He missed Tony today, and the other man hasn’t even texted him about his day at the spa or sent him any ridiculous pictures of him getting one of those green facemasks.

_ You’re the other woman in this scenario, Rogers _ , he tells himself. Tony isn’t emotionally attached to him, he’s a distraction while he figures out his divorce from his husband. There isn’t a future for them, Tony will probably jet off to Milan after all is said and done and find a rotating cast of supermodels to warm his bed. 

The thought causes an unpleasant sting in Steve’s chest, which shouldn’t make any sense. He’s only been working for Tony for eight months or so, and he’s had the privilege of having heated makeouts with his employer by the poolside for only half of that. By all accounts, he’s a fling. 

But... he’s comfortable. He’s comfortable in their easy pattern of waiting for Tiberius’ car to leave, bringing Tony his drink, and laying in the sun, exchanging kisses along with bits and pieces of their life stories. He was comfortable telling Tony about the first time he got drunk: at a sorority event, handcuffed to a Delta Phi Epsilon pledge, with a key at the bottom of a champagne bottle. 

(Steve ended up throwing up inside her bag afterwards and had to walk back to the frat house shirtless, but the anecdote made Tony laugh, so it was worth it in retrospect.)

In exchange for that story, he got to go inside Tony’s workshop. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen: in contrast to the Tudor-esque style of the rest of Stone Manor, all red brick and dark wooden panelling, the shed where Tony worked was minimalist and modern. Metal flooring, concrete walls, and open space where several projects lay half-done. 

So, he’s given in to moping and pining for Tony to call him, like he’s one of the heroines in one of Tony’s godawful Danielle Steele novels. The thought of the two of them running away together crosses his mind, which just makes the ache in his chest worse. He’s too miserable to eat, so he doesn’t go out of his room for the rest of the night. 

It’s another six hours before exhaustion takes over and Steve finally gets to sleep. 

***

While Tony’s waiting for Laurene by the spa, he gets a call on his personal phone from an unknown number. Normally, he wouldn’t pick up, or he’d pick up and give the caller a witty rejoinder like “go fuck yourself,” but Rhodey had told him to expect someone calling him today (He’d complained about it fiercely, the  _ one _ day where he’s taking some time for himself and he has to be on the phone with a stranger?), so he deigns the caller with a response. 

“Hello?” 

“Is this Tony Stark?” says a woman on the other end of the line, commandingly. Tony’s intrigued; nobody ever talks to him like they’re in charge of him. Tiberius tries it, sometimes, but he has no gravitas. 

“I go by Anthony Stone publicly, but yes,” he corrects, mostly out of habit, but partially due to surprise. 

“This is Natasha Romanov. I was hired by James Rhodes to investigate your husband, Tiberius Stone. My partner and I looked into his finances and found some concerning anomalies. Are you in a public place at the moment, because this isn’t news that anyone would take well.”

Well, now he’s really intrigued. He sees Laurene and Betty’s cars pull into the parking lot, and he was  _ going  _ to go inside with them to enjoy a red wine bath and grapeseed oil massage while drinking pressed fruit juice, but this, bafflingly, seems more important than that. He tells the other two to go ahead and that he’ll meet them there, but stays outside and gets back into his own car and tells Happy to go back to the Manor. 

“I’m not anymore, what did you find?”

“We found out that Tiberius took out a five billion dollar life insurance policy on you recently, and that he’s been seen with Sunset Bain on numerous private dates.” 

Well, that answers one question and raises several others. 

“What’s the life insurance policy for? Both of us have a joint one already.”

Natasha pauses for a tense second, before saying, “Kidnapping and ransom.”

A cold, sinking feeling settles in Tony’s stomach. His hands, usually steady from years of soldering practice and laying circuits, are trembling, and his grip on his phone loosens against his will. 

_ Fuck, I really made him that angry? That he’d have me kidnapped? To run off with his  _ own _ political rival? What sick game is he playing? _

Bizarrely, the thing he focuses on is that the car isn’t moving. He rolls down the partition to tell Happy to move, but finds another man in his place. 

“Mr. Stone, you’re back from your spa day early, aren’t you?”

“What the fuck--”, he tries the car door - which is locked - and starts panicking. 

“Natasha, something’s wrong, tell Rhodey--”, the man snatches his phone away and levels a pistol at his head. 

“None of that, please. Change of plans, we’re headed to Hoboken.”

Tony wills himself to calm down as he resigns himself to being driven into  _ New Jersey _ , God, if he survives this he’s going to wring Tiberius’ neck, fucking Jersey. 

He has to give the man credit: even when he’s being maniacally evil and staging a hostage situation for money, he still manages to be the exact same petty asshole that Tony married. 

***

When Steve wakes up the next morning, it’s to the sound of loud banging on his bedroom door. He opens it to see Jarvis, Ana, Mr. Rhodes - along with two women and one man he’s never seen before - all of them in various states of anger and distress. 

“What’s going on?” 

“It’s Tony,” says Mr. Rhodes, who gestures to the television. It’s tuned into the news channel, and Tony’s husband is on-screen, talking to the anchors. 

“--and the saddest part about this entire situation is that the night before Anthony was taken from me, he told me that all he wanted was to see me achieve my dreams. So you see, Jackie, I can’t withdraw my campaign for the senate, that would be giving these monsters what they want, and going against my husband’s wishes,” says Tiberius, and both anchors nod sympathetically before turning back to the camera and cutting to the weather. 

One of the women, the one with short, bright red hair, shuts the TV off, slamming the remote down harshly. “What a fucking liar. He’s the one that  _ paid money _ to an  _ international crime syndicate _ to have Tony kidnapped! And he gets on the news and lies about it for what? Votes?” 

A chorus of enraged yells goes across the room, and Steve’s having trouble putting it all together. Tony was kidnapped? Did Tiberius find out about their affair? He sees everyone except the man he doesn’t know, the one with short blonde hair, a bandaged nose, and a heavy-looking backpack slung over one shoulder, head into the cottage’s dining room to commiserate. 

He turns to the man -- who introduces himself as Clint Barton, and the ‘scary Soviet redhead’ was his partner, Natasha Romaov -- and asks, very plainly, “What happened last night?”

“A lot of stuff, man. Where do you wanna start?” Clint pulls out a laptop from his backpack and sets it on the coffee table. 

“Tony was kidnapped? And it was Tiberius’ fault?” 

“More than that. It was Tiberius and Sunset Bain, together.” Clint opens up a file, BAINTRONICS_FISCAL_REPORT_Q3, and points out one of the line items: a three million dollar payment to the Mandarin Hotel in Manhattan for a company retreat. 

Steve recognizes the company name, Sunset Bain used to be the CEO of Lockheed Martin’s second-biggest competitor before going into politics. 

“That’s an obscene amount of money for a company retreat, right?” 

“Not at all, even if they were staying there. But Sunet sends her business to Albany for their company retreat every year. She could have changed it this time around and decided to have them stay in the city, but probably not. However, this  _ is _ how much it would run you to hire someone to kidnap a high-profile individual.”

“But how do we know Tiberius was involved?” Steve’s heart is beating double-time in his chest; Tony’s life could be in danger, and there’s nothing he can do about it except watch it unfold in real-time. 

In response, Clint opens up another two files. The first is Tiberius Stone’s personal financial records, showing that Tiberius had taken out a ludicrously large K&R insurance policy (“Kidnapping and ransom insurance, I fucking love rich people, they’re so weird,” informs Clint, who’s taking this far too lightly for Steve’s comfort). 

The second one contains the stipulations on Tony’s trust fund; it’s completely unavailable to Tiberius, even in the event of Tony’s death, it would all go to Mr. Rhodes, someone named Virginia Potts (“That’s the other lady, I dunno if you met her yet, she’s SI’s CEO”), Mr. Hogan, and the Jarvises. 

The last thing Clint shows him are the polling numbers for Tiberius and Sunset. Ever since the news broke, more and more news sites have been reporting on Tiberius favorably, calling him ‘family-oriented’ and ‘a dedicated husband even throughout his husband’s numerous public scandals,’ and the effect on his numbers is evident. 

Tiberius Stone is a man who wanted two things: money and power, and he was willing to collude with someone he publicly hated and conspire to kill his husband in order to get it. Suddenly, everything starts clicking for Steve. And that’s when he starts freaking out. 

“What can we do?”

Clint rolls his eyes at him. “Nothing. We can’t do anything unless we know where Tony is and if he’s alive or not. Otherwise we could make things worse.”

“What about his--”, Clint cuts him off.

“Tracing his phone is useless, the last available location was from yesterday afternoon at a dock in Newport. It probably got tossed into the water.”

“--oh.” Steve feels sick to his stomach. He looks outside, sees the bright, sunny day, only a few clouds dotting the sky, and thinks that the weather is far too cheery for the current state of affairs. 

Natasha, Mr. Rhodes, and Ms. Potts all come out from the living room and move to exit from the back door, and Clint does the same. 

“Where are you going?”

Natasha points outside the window at a familiar black car. “He’s home. I’m sorry, we have to go. We’ll come back the next time he’s making the press rounds, which should be soon.”

Jarvis and Ana look livid. Jarvis speaks up first, saying, “And I suppose we’re meant to simply work in this wretched man’s house, knowing what he did to Anthony, and what? Try not to murder him in a fit of rage?”

Ana follows him with, “Oh darling, it won’t be a blind crime of passion, I’ve wanted to poison him for years. This would be premeditated.”

Mr. Rhodes lets out a shaky laugh, telling the both of them, “Hey, don’t let me hear you say any of that, that’s discoverable by the prosecution.” 

Ms. Potts is less amused, saying, “We need all three of you to stay calm and keep it under control. Who knows what he’d do to you if he found out that you knew? And it’s not just because they’ll need your testimony in court, it’s because Tony wouldn’t want any of you to get hurt because of him.”

Jarvis sighs, resigned, anger replaced with exhaustion. “Your assessment of Anthony is, unfortunately and as always, correct, Virginia. I just don’t know what I can do.”

She pulls the older man into a hug. “Stay here. Don’t give Tiberius a reason to be suspicious. And tell us when he’s out of the house so we can meet in secret.”

With that, their four guests leave, and the three of them are alone in the cottage, standing in silence.

“I should put on a kettle of tea for Master Stone,” says Jarvis. Ana leaves and busies herself with straightening up after their impromptu gathering. Steve pulls himself together and goes outside to grab the gardening equipment, bracing himself to be ordered around by the man that he despises instead of the man that he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be out on 8/3, barring extenuating circumstances! I'm nearing the end of my summer semester in college so I have a final exam coming up haha.


	6. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiberius is a scumbag, a breakout is staged, and Tony and Steve have a moment together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH this chapter was hell to write. I hope you enjoy reading it! Also, check it out, the end is in sight!

Tony’s been in Jersey for five weeks.

Five weeks of filming weekly hostage videos for proof of life, five weeks of wondering where the hell Tiberius is, five weeks of thinking that he’s going to die at any second. 

He sees faint rays of sun peeking through the tiny plexiglass window in the sectioned-off corner with an air mattress that’s been serving as his bedroom. Make that six, if he’s counting right. He hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in ages. 

After what he assumes is a few hours, the daily routine begins. 

Goon #2, distinguished from Goon #1 by his poorly-done tattoo sleeve, grabs him by the arm roughly, agitating the bruising and making him cry out. He sets Tony on a chair in front of a camera, like usual, while Goon #1, whose defining feature is the angry red scar along his cheek, points a gun at him and asks him to say the same words that he’s been saying for over half a week. 

“Hello, my name is Anthony Stone. I’m still alive, it’s… well I’m not quite sure what day it is. My quality of life is, well, fine, but I just want to be returned to my husband. If Tiberius is out there, listening to this, honey, I love you. I hope your campaign is going well, I know you’re going to win it this year.”

Throughout the video, he blinks out where he is in what he hopes is recognizable to Rhodey and the private investigators that he hired. 

_ **** --- -*** --- -*- * -* H-O-B-O-K-E-N. _

The camera shuts off, his two guards leave, and Tony’s once again alone in the warehouse. He walks back to his air mattress to lie down in silence for the rest of the day. Or that’s how the script is supposed to go. Instead, the doors fling open, and he sees the jackass who did this to him walk through, puffed up and livid. Along with someone else. 

“My numbers are  _ dropping _ again, you  _ said _ this would work!” 

“Relax your face, sweetheart, you’ll get lines on your forehead. You don’t want to end up needing botox, do you?” Tony recognizes that voice, but more specifically, he recognizes the smell of burnt caramel perfume. 

Sunset Bain. His husband has been cheating on him with his  _ own political rival _ , and they arranged for his kidnapping. Un-fucking-believable. 

“You are so unbelievably shallow, I cannot believe I let you talk me into this. What do we do? Just ask them to torture him more?”

“No, you idiot. This is when we play the widower card. Have him killed.”

“I-- are you sure?” Well at least he’s hesitant about it. 

“Yes, I’m sure. What did I tell you? It’ll make you sympathetic. Play the grieving husband in public for a few weeks and watch the sympathy votes roll in. Plus, don’t you want the insurance money?”

Tony peeks his head around the panel divider to see Sunset whispering to Goon #1, who nods and confirms something with Goon #2. 

Well, there it is. He hopes that someone, somewhere, figures out his clue sooner rather than later. 

***

It’s been five weeks of scouting out one of Hoboken’s abandoned warehouses, and Steve’s starting to get tired. Mr. Rhodes figured out the morse code Tony was blinking in those awful videos almost immediately, but who knew that such a tiny town could have so many places to hide someone?

Natasha had said that based on the lighting in the hostage videos and the time of year, they were probably being filmed in the early morning, between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m., which is how Steve ended up taking his own car to Hoboken every morning after Tiberius had left for work. 

He’s about to give up on the place he’s been scouting out covertly for the past two hours, when he sees Tiberius’ car pull up to the back, and both him and a woman -- Sunset Bain, his mind supplies -- step out. They found their place, then. 

He shoots off a text to Natasha,  _ 1715 Willow Ave _ , and starts up his car to race Tiberius back to the manor so he doesn’t get fired for being late or slacking off. Natasha texts him back a thumbs-up emoji, and says that they’ll be moving to extract Tony within the next 48 hours. 

For the first time in weeks, Steve feels hopeful about the situation. His slight smile’s grown into a grin by the time he gets back to Jarvis and Ana. 

“I presume you have good news, if you’re this cheery?” The older man asks, pouring him a cup of tea and handing him a couple of iced biscuits. 

Steve nods, dunking the cookie into his tea and taking a bite. “We found him. To Tiberius’ credit, Tony’s not even in a bad part of Jersey. Well -- there aren’t any  _ good _ parts of Jersey, but you know what I mean.” 

Jarvis shakes his head, laughing softly, “You Americans and your state pride.”

Steve laughs with him. He knows he’s being ridiculous, but he’s been searching for a silver lining for over a month and this is the closest he’s found. He sees Natasha’s car pull into the back entrance, and he steps outside to let her and Clint in. 

“So, 1715 Willow Avenue, huh?” She says by way of greeting. 

“Yep, I saw Tiberius and Sunset in the parking lot, arguing about something.”

She pauses, looking concerned. “If they were arguing, it means that something must be going wrong. Ty’s polling numbers have been stagnating, and Tony’s life could be used as leverage. We’re gonna need to move quickly.”

They step into the cottage and start planning, taking their seats around the dining table.

“Tiberius is having another slate of interviews and press tomorrow, he’ll be out for the entire day. That’s our chance.” Natasha says, pulling up a map of the street that the warehouse is on. 

“Steve, did you see any guards outside the warehouse? Anyone that could pose a threat?” Clint asks. 

“Nobody outside, but I didn’t get to see the inside. We should be prepared for the worst, right?” Natasha nods in agreement, but Clint looks a little confused. 

“What do you mean ‘we’? You’re staying here, you’re way too close to the situation.” He says this like it’s obvious, but Steve’s having trouble seeing his point. 

“No, what do you _ mean  _ ‘too close to the situation’? I can be professional. Hell, I’ve been professional about having an affair with a married man for months.”

Natasha speaks up, “It’s that kind of hot-headedness that spells trouble, Steve. What happens if you see that Tony has an untreated broken arm, or he’s emaciated, or any other horrible thing you can think of? What then?”

Steve sees red, then, nearly yelling, “How can you  _ say _ things like that? It’s almost like you  _ want _ Tony to be hurt, and-- oh. I see your point.” He has the decency to be embarrassed at his outburst. 

Clint pats him on the shoulder. “Stay here, Steve. We’ll get him out of there.”

Steve slumps down into his chair. “I hope you’re right.”

***

Tony wakes up from a fitful sleep to bright sunlight and a clear blue sky, from what he can tell from his tiny window. Of course the morning of his execution would be absolutely gorgeous. He lies back on the slightly-deflated air mattress and thinks,  _ I have so many regrets _ . 

He regrets marrying Ty, obviously, if he hadn’t shacked up with this idiot he wouldn’t be in this mess, but there are others as well. 

He regrets dragging Steve into this, instead of just letting Rhodey handle the paperwork and biding his time.

He regrets not moving more quickly, regrets being selfish and indulging in more time with Steve than was necessary. He’s led the poor kid on for ages, it seems. He couldn’t even bring himself to break it off because he likes him too much.

_ Just say love, Anthony. Jesus, what are you, a middle schooler? _

While he’s having the final pity party of his tragically short life, he hears some commotion from in front of his little divider. It must be Goon #1 and Goon #2 fighting about something, maybe who gets to put the bullet in his head. Or he thinks that, but he hears two additional sets of footsteps. 

_ Maybe Ty wants to watch it happen _ , he thinks morbidly. He tries to dismiss this as just his mind wandering to macabre places, Ty had always been squeamish about anything even vaguely unsanitary; that was why Tony had to keep his workshop entirely separate from the rest of the house and promise to shower at least twice if he’d been in there before bed. 

But then again, he’d thought that Ty had always been the type of person to  _ not _ resort to kidnapping and murdering his husband for political gain and profit, so Tony concludes that he’s not exactly a great judge of character. 

He hears a solid  _ thud-slap  _ of someone’s body hitting the concrete floor, which intrigues him enough that he peers around the divider this time. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it wasn’t a tall woman with red hair walking towards him and a shorter blonde man checking one of his now-unconscious guards for a pulse. 

“Un-fucking-believable, only  _ two _ guards for this entire warehouse? God, no offense, Mr. Stone, but your husband’s a dumbass. I’d have hired a whole security team for this place, maybe set up some security cameras outside,  _ something _ ,” says the blonde one, not bothering to introduce himself. 

“You are the most unprofessional person I have ever worked with, why are we partners again?” Oh, the man must be Clint, then. Tony brightens up at the woman’s voice, and calls out to her. 

“Ms. Romanov, I don’t believe we’ve met in person yet. Are you my knight in tactical body armor?”

She gives him a small smile, “I’m flattered, but I’m pretty sure Steve would object to that. He wanted to be here, you know.”

Tony scoffs, “And risk getting shot? They were gonna kill me today. Thank God you talked him out of it.”

“Yeah, uh, about that…” he hears Steve say from behind Natasha. 

Tony isn’t proud of how faint he feels, and he certainly isn’t proud of how he runs into Steve’s arms and buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, not even trying to hold back tears. He only feels a little bit better when he hears Steve crying as well. 

“Did you _ follow _ us here so you could have an emotional reunion moment? Really?” Tony can feel Clint rolling his eyes at them, but then he hears him cry out from Natasha elbowing him, so he holds off on any scathing remarks he has. 

The four of them pile back into their cars; Natasha doesn’t even try to make him not go with Steve, wishing them a safe drive to the CNN building. Tony is confused for a second, but then realizes: they’re giving him what he wanted. 

A chance to, very publicly, ruin Tiberius’ career once and for all. 

***

The second that Steve locks the car doors, Tony pulls him into a fiery kiss, and any thoughts of Tiberius vanish from his mind. 

The angle is off, Steve has both hands on the steering wheel, the car is  _ on _ , and Natasha and Clint have already left and are going to beat them to the place where Ty’s live interview is, but all he can manage to think is  _ God, I missed him _ , as he leans deeper into the kiss and lets Tony twist his hands into his hair. 

“I thought you were dead, God, I thought he was going to kill you.”

“I missed you. I missed you every day, Steve. You’re not leaving after all this insanity, are you? I’d hate to have to find someone else to take care of the pool.” Tony says it like a joke, but Steve can tell that there’s an edge of worry to his words. 

“I love you, why would I leave?” Steve says this before he can stop himself, and while he’s mentally kicking himself for blurting out that he loves Tony in the least-romantic place possible (the front seat of his 2015 Toyota Prius that has Dorito crumbs stuck in the seat creases), Tony pulls away entirely and goes deathly still and quiet. 

“You love me?” 

Steve isn’t about to backpedal on what he said, he was raised right, but he can’t exactly bring himself to talk, so he just nods silently and hopes Tony isn’t about to laugh in his face. 

Tony starts laughing in his face. 

Before he can get angry, or start crying, or really react in any meaningful way, Tony says, “Well, I’m pissed that you said it first, that was supposed to be my line. For the record I love you too, you painfully-dense Magic Mike reject.” His voice is bordering on hysterical and there are small tears in the corners of his eyes. 

Steve sighs in relief, and the only thing stopping him from kissing Tony again is Tony saying, “Ah-ah, no more delays or feelings for today, I have two senatorial campaigns to destroy on live television.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: Tony goes on TV and makes his case heard.


	7. Embers and Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiberius gets what's coming to him and Tony and Steve share a few moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER GUYS WE'RE ALMOST DONE!! And then I can work on my Stony Week thing. I finished my classes for the summer so hopefully I'll have more time to write in these upcoming weeks before my Fall semester starts.

Tiberius finds Sunset waiting for him on the couch in the green room, smiling like a cat that’s killed a particularly plump bird. 

“You look pleased with yourself. What’s going on?”

“We’re being trailed, that’s what’s going on. Your husband’s smarter than he looks.”

“What do you  _ mean _ we’re being trailed? The hell? I thought you said it was all under control!”

She rolls her eyes at him, God, he  _ hates  _ it when she does that. “It  _ is  _ under control, stop freaking out. His friend hired a few PIs, but they shouldn’t be any trouble, especially considering that their office happened to have quite the awful gas leak today.” She shows him a picture of a burning building, the sign outside the door singed but still legible.

_ Romanov and Barton Company? _ Tony’s been  _ spying  _ on him? In a flash of rage, he thinks he should head back to the warehouse and shoot his husband himself. There’s been absolutely no goddamn trust in their relationship, unbelievable. He calms himself down a second later, and supposes angry tears will look just as good as sad ones on camera. 

Sunset walks up to him and runs her hands through his hair, kissing him. Her nails dig into his scalp, and she leaves bright pink lipstick all over him. He hopes that the stylists have left him a few makeup wipes, otherwise there’s no way he can go outside. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours? For handling the monetary transaction?” He can’t be too sure with her, not when she’s as duplicitous as she is. 

She smiles. “Transaction, that’s cute. Yes, I’ll see you in my office for the paperwork, and other things,” she says, leering at him suggestively before seeing herself out, hips swaying. 

And so, he’s left alone with his thoughts and the echoes of Sunset’s heels clicking down the hallway. The interviewer this round isn’t his biggest fan, so hopefully his ‘mourning husband’ act will sell. 

***

Natasha and Clint meant to stop at their office to get some of the documents that prove that Tiberius was behind Tony’s kidnapping, but once they saw the smoke from a few blocks away, they started fearing for the worst. 

“You don’t think they…” Clint starts, wanting to believe that the place that they’d called their home for the last two decades of private practice was not currently being reduced to embers. 

Natasha’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and she forces herself to exhale. “I think they did. You backed up everything onto a flashdrive, right? You have the laptop?” 

Clint snorts, “Of course I do, I only  _ act _ like the lovable idiot of the group because it’s good for business. People love a dynamic duo, Nat!” 

That makes Natasha smile a little bit. “Who said you were lovable? I only keep you around because I need someone to make me coffee.”

He smacks her arm, mock-offended, “Is that all that I am to you? After that night we shared together in Ibiza--”

Now it’s Natasha’s turn to smack Clint’s arm, “You’re the  _ worst _ , if I ever get drunk enough that I let you take me anywhere near Ibiza, I want you to make sure I get blackballed from every agency and private practice we know about.” 

“So what are we gonna do about the building?” Clint’s mood returns to how it was, somber. 

Natasha goes into a full grin, then. “Let Tiberius think he’s won, then bill him for it in court. Come on, I wanna beat Steve and Tony to the CNN building.” 

Clint gestures at the traffic jam that they’ve driven directly into, ugh, fucking  _ Jersey _ , “I’d settle for just getting there at all, at this point.”

***

Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Clint rendez-vous in front of the tall, glass-covered building, and the first thing Tony does is walk up to the security guard and demand to be let in, with his trademark bitchy eyeroll and a, “Do you _ know _ who I  _ am? _ ” 

The guard, of course, knows who Anthony Stone is, and after he finishes freaking out about meeting a celebrity that’s been missing for six weeks, lets them in without an issue. The four of them agree to split up, with Natasha and Clint going to apprehend Sunset Bain and Tony and Steve going to find Tiberius to interrupt the interview. 

“Well, good to know that people remember me,” says Tony, smiling as he speedwalks through the building, Steve hurrying behind him. 

“You’re very memorable.”

“Steven, are you  _ flirting _ with me, when we’re about to see my husband after six horrible weeks?” 

Steve smiles. “If I say yes, will you leave him and run away with me?”

“I’ll put arsenic in his gin, darling, it’ll be very Dixie Chicks, very Goodbye Earl...are you too young to remember that?”

“Who?” Steve looks confused as they turn the corner and see a sign pointing to the main broadcasting room. They’ve found where they need to go. 

Tony can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry about it, they’re only the most progressive cultural icons of the entire Bush era.”

The main stage is in sight, and Tony gets a glimpse of Tiberius’ side profile. He’s talking to the anchor animatedly, and guarded by security. Steve tries to rush out to confront the man, but Tony holds him back. 

“Give me your phone.” 

“Why?”

“We’re going to bait him, make him slip up on camera. You can sock him in the jaw afterwards.”

Steve acquiesces, handing Tony his phone, and Tony turns on the flashlight and shines it onto the floor. Tiberius notices it out of the corner of his eye, turns his head almost imperceptibly, and follows the beam up to Tony’s smirking face. 

To Ty’s credit, he doesn’t slip up as much as Tony thought he would; he stumbles over his next few words, plays it off as being emotional about his husband potentially dying, and asks the interviewer for a break. They cut away, Tony retreats into the shadows, and Ty rushes off the stage and follows them. 

“Oh, we’re really in for it now…” Tony says, turning on the audio recording on Steve’s phone, stuffing it into the other man’s back pocket, and pushing him into a nearby supply closet, as Tiberius corners him in the hallway, face red and contorted into the angriest snarl Tony’s ever seen. 

“How the fuck are you alive? I’m going to  _ kill _ Sunset, I swear to God, she told me she’d take  _ care _ of this--”

“So you’re admitting that you wanted me dead? Say it out loud.” Tony’s feeling vicious. He needs to hear it from Tiberius’ mouth, not just to confirm his worst fears, but for the benefit of the recording he’s making. 

“Yes I wanted you dead, I’ve  _ wanted _ you dead for a long time, do you actually think I enjoy being your husband?” Tiberius’ voice is getting louder, they’re going to attract attention and get thrown out, but Tony doesn’t care. He’s hyper-aware of how the situation looks: him pinned against a wall and Tiberius screaming at him. No matter what, this turns out horribly for Ty and beautifully for Tony. 

“And just to be clear, you used our money, well,  _ my _ money, to hire people to kidnap and kill me, as well as people to draw up a billion-dollar insurance plan in the event of my death, and collaborated with your political rival to do all of this?” 

Ty gives him a little laugh, cruel and short, just like him. “Five billion dollars, and it was  _ her _ idea, you idiot. ‘Collaborating,’ that’s cute. We’re fucking. You never put out and you’re a shitty lay anyways, so congrats, all of this is actually  _ your _ fault!” 

Tony wills himself not to smile. This is so, so incriminating, and Ty doesn’t even  _ know _ it. He’s going to get everything in the divorce. 

Apparently, something must have shown through on his face, because Tiberius loses the small amount of composure he has left, throws a punch at him, and it connects with his nose. The crunch of cartilage is inaudible over the scream that Tony lets out as he sinks to the ground, and finally,  _ finally, _ a few security guards come over to see what all of the commotion is about. 

“Mr. Stone? Oh my God,  _ both  _ Mr. Stones, Jesus, we have to-- someone call the police! And an ambulance!” One of the guards yells down the hallway as more of them rush into the crowded hallway, restraining Tiberius and helping Tony to his feet. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for seventeen goddamn years, you piece of shit, I only married you because your father  _ begged _ me to, good luck getting anywhere without me, nobody knows you as anything but  _ my _ husband, you fucking-” Tiberius gets dragged off, presumably to a squad car or somewhere else where they can hold him while Tony decides whether or not to press charges. 

The guard helping him looks concerned, but Tony waves him off. “I’m alright, I’m alright! I’ll need a nose job, but my punch card says that if I get nine procedures, the tenth one’s free.” He’s trying for levity, but it’s not working. He can feel blood starting to go tacky on his hand, and moving anything in his face hurts. 

He’s led out of the building, where he sees Natasha and Clint waiting for him, but no Sunset Bain. 

“Where is she?” Tony asks, slightly congested-sounding, looking around for an EMT or someone who might have some ice for his nose.

“She got away, too smart to stick around for long.” Natasha looks visibly annoyed at not getting to reveal all of her hard work and possibly punch someone.

Tony shrugs, then winces at another twinge of pain. “Looks like we’ll have to subpoena her, then? Also, do either of you have a phone? I haven’t had a chance to get a new one, and I accidentally left Steve in a closet.”

“I thought Steve was out? His Twitter has the gay flag emoji on it-”

“Clint, oh lord, don’t make me laugh, it makes my face hurt, not  _ the _ closet, I meant a literal supply closet.” 

“Oh damn. Yeah you should probably tell him it’s safe to get out of there, wouldn’t want him to suffocate or something,” says the other man, shooting Steve a quick text and telling him to  _ gtfo asap _ . 

Around ten minutes later, Tony has some ice on his nose, a scratchy, thin, polyester blanket around his shoulders courtesy of the EMTs, and a nice long chat with his lawyers that yes, he  _ will _ be pressing charges, and yes, he  _ will _ be trying to go for the maximum sentence possible. This is when he sees Steve jogging out to meet him from behind the building. 

_ God, look at those legs, mmm, pure indecency _ . As the other man gets closer, he can see Steve’s nipples peeking through the thin shirt of his, and he’s getting deja vu from their first meeting. 

“Tony! Are you alright? Your nose-” Steve reaches out gingerly to cradle Tony’s face, and Tony lets himself feel weak for a few seconds. 

“Yeah, it hurts. I’ll be okay, though. Did you get the recording?”

“I did, I wasn’t sure what was going on, but when I saw the app open, well, I put two-and-two together. I hope you can’t hear my heartbeat on this thing, I thought I was gonna get caught the whole time.”

Tony plays a section of it back, hears himself provoke Tiberius and basically egg him into confessing. For some strange reason, he can’t seem to remember Tiberius sounding that menacing, even though he was  _ there _ , he  _ saw and heard it _ himself. He wraps the itchy blanket around himself tighter, and Steve pulls him into a hug.

“Hey lovebirds, are you ready to head out? We have a hearing in 36 hours, apparently.” 

Steve glares at Clint, but Tony pulls away from him and lets the EMTs load him into the ambulance so he can get his nose checked out and bandaged. He doesn’t want to have to show up to court looking like a mess, unless it means the jury will find him more sympathetic. 

***

There’s a small gathering of local news vans around them, as word’s gotten out about Tony being alive and Tiberius getting violent, but nothing so frenzied that Steve can’t navigate his way out of the parking lot and follow Tony’s ambulance to the hospital. 

The one Tony’s headed to is a half an hour away, but Steve takes a detour and picks up a new phone for him. A small burner so that they can stay in touch with each other and their friends. He also calls Mr. Rhodes, Ana, and Jarvis, and tells them where Tony is. The other man hasn’t seen anyone he cares about for over a month now, and it must have taken a toll on him. 

Upon arriving at the ER waiting room, Steve’s pulled into a crushing hug by all three of the people he called over, as well as Mr. Rhodes’ wife, who tells him to, “drop the formal bullshit, it’s Carol. And call him Jim, I don’t know why you don’t.”

An agonizing 45 minutes later, the nurse tells them that Tony’s accepting visitors, but only one or two at a time. At first, Steve wants to rush in and see him, but…

Jarvis and Ana look shaken to pieces, and Jim looks like he might break down into tears, holding onto Carol for strength. He sits back down, and tells Ana and Jarvis to go ahead, handing them the phone he picked up and watching them rush into Tony’s room. 

He waits while Jim and Carol have their turn, and then he’s finally allowed to see Tony. 

Tony looks greyed-out in the stark white lights of the hospital. There’s mottled yellow and purple bruising in the center of his face that disappears under the bandages that the doctors put on his nose, and he looks… tired. Winded. Steve can’t recall if he’s ever seen Tony look like this. 

Tony looks at him and grins. “Good news: I don’t need plastic surgery. Or I shouldn’t. We’ll have to come back in three or so weeks to see. God I hope I don’t need to go under the knife, I mean, you’ve  _ seen _ what happens when you get a botched nose job. I love Betty, I do, but she looks like Mr. Burns with that thing and why are you laughing? This is a  _ very _ serious matter--”

Steve cuts him off. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Tony gives him a smaller, dimmer smile. “I’m glad  _ you’re _ okay.” He perks up, “You ready to spring me out of here, get me divorced, and send the bastard to jail?”

Steve leans against the frame of the door, and says with more confidence than he’s felt in his entire life, “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: the fallout of this chapter.


	8. Bookends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resolution and the _almost_ end of this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW WE'RE DONE LADS! I can't believe it, this is the longest thing I've ever written. Thank you to everyone who's read, left kudos, and commented. And a special thank you to my wonderful beta reader aisu_hawk, who put up with me procrastinating on writing chapters and tight deadlines. 
> 
> This story, in terms of plot, is done, however, I think I *will* be publishing a ninth chapter for this as an epilogue. That one will probably take longer than a week to get up, since I'm moving back to college next week.

Rhodey and Carol are the most amazing legal team on the planet, but Tony could do without having to go all the way into the city just to meet up with Rhodey in his office. Apparently, though, this is the only place where attorney-client privilege applies, so their conversations aren’t subject to being used against them by Tiberius in court. Which is  _ absolutely _ something he has to worry about. 

See, Tiberius  _ really _ wants Tony’s money -- over half of it, since Tony  _ was _ cheating on him, which is the same reasoning his lawyer is using to try and acquit him of murder charges. The preliminary hearing was a complete circus, with Carol going head-to-head with the weasel-faced attorney that Ty picked out, some sleazebag named Justin Hammer who was almost disbarred five times. Their legal arguments devolved into a screaming match within the first half-hour, and the entire trial process is being televised, so Tony has to deal with reporters and journalists and paparazzi milling around the roads near the manor looking for any tidbit of breaking news or a sighting of him and Steve together. 

Speaking of the manor, Rhodey’s been pushing him to sell the damn thing, but Tony’s keeping it. He likes the pool and the cottage for Jarvis and Ana. Plus, if he sells it, he feels like he’s letting Tiberius win. 

Tony and Steve get called into a meeting with Rhodey a few days after the hearing; the judge, Jen Walters, okayed the trial for the criminal charges, so they only have a week or so to prepare. Luckily, they’re settling the divorce outside of court, because Tony doesn’t know if he could handle two trials at once. 

“So, what’s the strategy, honeybear?” 

Rhodey rolls his eyes at him fondly, “Don’t call me that in court, and this isn’t one of your soap operas, we don’t have a ‘strategy,’ we’re going to present actual facts. Natasha and Clint are giving expert testimonies, we have everything we need entered into evidence, we just heard back from Ty’s lawyers about what they’re requesting for discovery. They want the text messages between you and Steve.” 

Oh dear God. Tiberius is still  _ so fucking stupid _ . Does he actually think that Tony would text Steve anything risque? When he’s a public figure and Steve could easily go to the press?

“They can have them, they’re not gonna find anything.”

Steve, though, looks nervous. Tony places a comforting arm on Steve’s (very broad, mmm) shoulder, and asks, “What’s wrong, love? You didn’t have any unsent nudes in there, did you?” 

“Not that, I just… what if they interpret something into our texts that’s not true? What if what you sent me is enough to get Tiberius off the hook for what he did?” 

Rhodey chimes in, “That’s what lawyers do, Steve. Carol was smart enough to ask for Ty and Sunset’s texts, and they’re awful. I never want to see a tongue emoji ever again. Tony, you and I are gonna have a talk about what you ever saw in that man.” 

“Speaking of Sunset, any update on her?” She’s the one who came up with the damn murder plot in the first place, and Tony thinks that she should get half of the blame. 

Rhodey shakes his head. “She’s gone, last seen on a flight headed to Montenegro. We have evidence tying her to the kidnapping as well as burning down Natasha and Clint’s building, but there’s no active extradition treaty. If this case goes on for long enough and gets enough publicity,  _ maybe _ we could get the EU involved, but Walters isn’t known for letting cases drag on.” 

Dammit. “Well shit, tell the spy twins that I’ll pay for their building. They don’t deserve to be office-less just because my future ex-husband is awful.” 

“That reminds me, we have a settlement on the divorce -- he’s being more reasonable this time around, if anything about that man is reasonable. He wants 141.6 million dollars.”

“Specific.” 

“There’s a listing for a mansion in Cannes, France for exactly that much.” 

“Of course there is, greedy bastard. What the fuck is he going to do in France? You know he didn’t have a passport before he met me, right?” 

“Hey!  _ I _ don’t have a passport.” Steve interjects, and he actually looks  _ offended _ on behalf of Tiberius, God, he’s so cute it’s unbelievable. 

“Don’t worry dear, I’ll fix that,” he soothes, and Steve still looks put-out, so Tony decides to regale him with one of Tiberius’ finer moments. 

“Did you know that when we first got together, the first thing Tiberius ever bought was a sports car? Cliché, I know. It was quite new money of him, I tried to tell him that.” Steve smiles at that, and Tony wants to see that smile every day for the rest of his life.

“Oh my God, you told me this story, I love this one!” That’s an understatement. Rhodey knows this one far too well, it’s a dinner party favorite of his. 

“Don’t spoil the ending! Anyways, he wanted to go for a drive, and there’s nowhere to drive in New York, so we flew out to the middle of nowhere and had the car delivered -- it wasn’t even an attractive car, it was this garish leopard-print custom Corvette, an  _ American _ car, can you believe?” Steve shoves at him, laughing. 

“As opposed to what, a Ferrari?”

“Ew, no, those were passé even back then, I drove around in a Maserati. But back to the story, when he finally got a chance to drive this awful car of his, he stepped on the gas, of course, he wanted to go fast. But you know how in the middle of nowhere, there are dirt roads and trees and all of that?” 

Steve nods, hesitantly, and Rhodey looks ready to get to the punchline. 

“Well, Tiberius stepped on the gas and  _ immediately _ drove both of us into an abandoned barn. Two hundred thousand dollars of custom Corvette down the drain. That’s shoddy craftsmanship for you.”

Steve’s mouth opens in shock, and Rhodey bursts into laughter, which is contagious enough that Steve starts to chuckle despite himself. 

“Was he mad?” Steve asks, incredulously. 

“Oh he was  _ livid _ , but he had nobody to blame but himself! And he was miserable afterwards, he had the wreckage shipped back to New York and tried to have a mechanic fix it, but it was too broken up, and he yelled at that mechanic for an  _ hour _ when he got the news.” Steve winces, no doubt having been on the receiving end of that kind of a tirade from someone as similarly entitled. 

“He was going to scrap it, but I told him I’d take care of it, and now a few of my own robots have bits of that wrecked Corvette in them.” That makes Steve look at him in awe. 

“Really?” 

Tony smiles and waves him off flippantly. “You’ve been inside my workshop, you know I can build anything out of anything.” 

Rhodey turns to him, ready to get back to discussing the actual proceedings.  _ Boring _ , he’d much rather entertain Steve. 

“So are we giving Tiberius the money? It’s less than the multiple billions plus stocks that he wanted before.” 

“Sure, why not. He can have his house in France, as long as he stays in the country long enough for the trial, and I want a restraining order. I don’t want that man anywhere near me for the rest of my life.” 

Rhodey writes down something on his notepad, then he looks up at the two of them and smiles. 

“Well, I’m happy to announce that since both of you are getting something out of this contract, and you’ve agreed to the terms, I believe that by this time next week, you’ll be a divorcee.” 

Tony lets out a sigh of relief. “Took long enough. I’ll see you in court tomorrow, honeybear.” 

Rhodey waves both of them out of his office, “I’ll see you in court, and do  _ not _ call me that in front of the judge!” 

***

Court is just as much of a circus as the hearing. The jury is skewed in Tony’s favor, Carol had said -- attempted murder is rarely forgivable unless Ty’s lawyer can prove that it was justified. However, upon looking deeper into some of the jurors, they’d found that a few of them had been locked out of inheritances or been cheated on by their significant others. These were the few that would make or break the verdict. 

Judge Walters keeps control of the courtroom by locking out the press, and by making sure that Carol and Hammer stick to their evidence strictly -- nothing unexpected, no surprises, and especially no raised voices. 

Carol calls up Clint as a witness, and Tony’s nerves are on edge. Clint was the one who found all of the monetary ties between Tiberius and the kidnapping, so if the jury isn’t convinced by him, their case is completely out the window.

“Mr. Barton, can you confirm that you currently work at the private investigation firm, Romanov and Barton Company?”

“Yes, though not physically, since our building burned down.” 

“And this has been your place of employment for how many years?” 

“About fifteen, sixteen in three months.” 

“So would you say that you are an expert in the field of private investigation?”

Clint looks a little bashful at that. “Well, I don’t want to  _ brag, _ but yeah, I’m good at my job.”

“And what was your most recent ‘job’?”

“I was hired by Rhodey-- I mean your co-counsel to investigate the kidnapping and disappearance of your client, Anthony Stark.” 

“Can you tell the courtroom what you, in your expert opinion, found?”

“We found a direct link between Tiberius Stone and Sunset Bain, through internal payment records of Ms. Bain’s company, Baintronics, that linked her to the Mandarin, an international criminal organization best known for kidnapping and assassinating high profile individuals of the same standing as Mr. Stark.”

A chorus of gasps sounds from around the courtroom and especially from the jury. Tony dares a glance over at Tiberius’ face -- he’s turning that horrible shade of blotchy red, clashing terribly with the light grey suit he’s dressed in. 

Judge Walters bangs her gavel to get the courtroom back to an appropriate state, and Carol continues her questioning. 

“And did you find anything else, Mr. Barton?”

“ _ Objection _ , your Honor, Ms. Danvers is leading the witness.” There goes Hammer, trying to salvage Tiberius’ image. He should know better; nothing beats the classic ‘my husband wants me dead for money’ storyline. 

“Overruled, Mr. Hammer, Ms. Danvers is asking for expert testimony. Continue,” Judge Walters says, nodding to Carol, who motions at Clint to continue talking. 

“My partner and I, Natasha Romanov, found that Mr. Stone had taken out a multi-billion dollar insurance policy on Mr. Stark specifically in the event of a kidnapping and ransom situation. The dates on the paperwork--” Clint nods to the projector screen that Carol has set up near the witness’ bench, which shifts to display a copy of the file he’s referring to, “--show that this was taken out merely weeks before Mr. Stark was kidnapped during his spa trip.”

More gasps from around the courtroom, and Carol steps away from the bench and smirks at her opponent.

“Your witness,” she says, leaving Hammer to pick up the pieces during cross-examination. Tony, for one, is in awe. 

“I am so glad that you use your powers for good,” Tony says to her, earnestly.

Hammer looks shaky as he approaches Clint for questioning, and Tony feels confident that they’re going to win. What can Tiberius come up with to excuse trying to  _ murder _ him?

***

Apparently, a hell of a lot. 

Hammer may not be as confident as Carol is in front of a jury, but he knows how to manipulate, just the same as Tiberius does. He brings up Tony and Steve’s affair, how Tony is a terrible husband who let their bedroom life die a slow death while doing nothing to help Tiberius’ career, how Tony’s father was the reason that Tiberius could never find a foothold in politics in the first place -- all of their dirty laundry is dragged out into the courtroom for every tabloid to pick apart. 

By the time every witness has been examined and cross-examined, Tony’s emotionally exhausted, and not even sure he  _ wants _ to win anymore. What the hell, why  _ not _ drop the charges? What’s the point?

This is where Rhodey comes in and gives him a well-deserved smack upside the head. Verbally and physically. 

“I’m sorry, do I need to remind you that he was going to have you  _ shot _ so he could become a senator? Do I really need to do that?” They’re on an extended recess while the jury deliberates, and the four of them -- Tony, Rhodey, Steve, and Carol, are all out for ice cream. It’d be a wonderfully domestic double-date if not for the topic of conversation. 

“I know, I know, but… I’m so tired of this. I’m tired of fighting with him. I fought with him on a daily basis when we were married, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” He slumps down further into his chair and scoops another spoonful of his now-melted chocolate espresso ice cream into his mouth. 

Steve chips in with his opinion, “Tony, if you drop the charges, that means that he could still get his senatorial seat. He has the money you gave him in the divorce settlement, he could scrub this entire case from public record in a heartbeat. Do you want to let him win?” 

Well, that’s a fresh perspective. Tony’s not above being motivated by spite.

“No, I don’t want to let him win, actually.” 

Steve smiles at him and takes his hand. “Then keep your head up. I’m hoping for a guilty verdict, but no matter what, we’re going to make sure that nobody forgets what he did to you.” 

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him. “‘We’? You’re including yourself in this mess?”

“Yes,” Steve says, stubbornly, setting his jaw in place.

“Simmer down, Lancelot, I’m not a blushing virgin whose honor needs defending,” Tony teases, but Steve still looks ready to go back into the courtroom and break Tiberius’ jaw. 

“I just… wish I’d done more. I made him so many drinks when I was working for you, I could have put rat poison in one of them.” It’s probably a testament to how much of a waking nightmare Tony’s life has been that Steve wishing he’d committed murder for him sounds like a touching declaration of love. His eyes go watery, and he grips Steve’s hand tighter. 

“Woah woah woah,  _ one _ attempted murder case at a time, everyone. Steve, do  _ not _ repeat that in front of anyone, and Tony, stop making moon eyes at him, we’re headed back into the courtroom,” Carol, always the professional, informs them. 

Tony stands on shaky legs, leaning on Steve for support as they walk back into the courthouse and into Judge Walters’ courtroom. The jury files in, they rise for the Judge’s entrance, and the head juror stands to give the verdict. 

“The jury finds the defendant, Tiberius Stone, guilty of all charges.” 

***

_ Present day _

The guilty verdict had been a breath of fresh air for Tony, but today is where the real blows are dealt -- the sentencing. Televised live, because of course it is: a senatorial candidate in a major sex scandal  _ and _ a murder conspiracy? It’s network gold. 

Tony had declined to be there. He’s seen enough of Tiberius’ face for more than one lifetime. But he is at home, knuckles white from clutching his wine glass in one hand and clamping down on Steve’s hand in a death grip with the other, eyes glued to the screen. He’s wearing his fluffiest robe, the purple one that he only pulls out when he’s nervous or sad or some other ugly emotion. 

Hammer is a damn good lawyer, though Tony is loath to admit it. He’d managed to talk the judge down from a life sentence with no possibility of parole, plus the laundry list of charges that Rhodey and Carol had levied against Tiberius, to less than fifty years and only three charges that would go on public record, all with the possibility to get expunged after a certain period of time. 

Judge Walters hands down the sentence -- 25 years for insurance fraud, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder. A quarter of a million dollars in fines. Eligible for parole after fifteen years or through evidence of good behavior. 

It’s lighter than Tiberius deserves, but Tony’s relieved anyways.

Steve breaks their silence as he shuts off the television. “So now that we don’t have to sneak around anymore, and your ex-husband is on his way to Al Capone’s last motel, what happens to us?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t need me to make anyone jealous anymore. I’m pretty sure you didn’t even need me for gardening or cleaning the pool or anything, Jarvis always looked offended when I tried to take any heavy box from him. Do I need to call up my old roommate and beg him to put me back on the lease?” 

Tony balks. “Absolutely not! No lover of mine is going to  _ rent _ . What you’re going to do is grab your belongings from the cottage and move them into the master bedroom.” 

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look shocked. “Just like that? Shouldn’t we, I don’t know,  _ talk _ about the logistics of thi--”

Tony cuts him off with a kiss. When he pulls back, he says to the blonde, “I’m a billionaire, I don’t need to worry about logistics.”

“Aren’t you worried about what people will think?” 

Tony scoffs. “You mean the press? They’ll think that I scored a hot piece of ass and that I’m getting revenge on Tiberius for cheating on me.” 

“But what about, I don’t know, your friends? Betty, Galina, all of them?” 

“They’ll be jealous that I did what they’ve always wanted: get rid of their husbands and run off with the handsome pool boy.” 

Steve turns a gorgeous shade of pink when Tony calls him handsome. It makes him look even more enticing. Tony leans in close to him, whispering in his ear. 

“I think that right now, you and I should break in the new bed that I had delivered. Just for us.” He bites the shell of Steve’s ear before slipping out of Steve’s arms to walk up the stairs to the bedroom. When he’s sure he’s out of the other man’s line of sight, he takes off his robe and drops it down the stairs where he knows Steve can see it. 

He laughs to himself as he hears a shocked  _ ‘Tony!’  _ and the sound of footsteps following him up the stairs. He ducks into the master bedroom and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next (if I manage to get some free time): Steve and Tony breaking in their new bed.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, then fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW, I believe that THIS is the final chapter of this fic! Thank you to everyone who read, gave kudos, commented, and in general went along for the ride. A special thank you to aisu-hawk for being the best beta one could ever ask for, and to the 616 SteveTony discord server for giving me ideas when I was stuck. See y'all in the next one!

Steve meets Tony in the master bedroom. He’s only been in this room once before, and it’s changed substantially since the last time. The ostentatious four poster canopy bed is still there, but the massive portrait of Tony and Tiberius above it is gone, as is the baroque wallpaper, fur rug, and wood paneling. 

Instead, the bedroom is much friendlier-looking now: cool grey walls and a cut-crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceilings. Gauze curtains let in dappled sunlight from the massive windows on the far wall, and the centerpiece of the entire room is Tony, sitting upright on the bed and smirking at him. 

Steve can’t help but stare in awe. 

“You’re late,” he says, leaning back onto the plush, tufted headboard. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” and just because he thinks it would be fun for  _ him _ to mess with Tony for a change, he tacks on a “...sir.” Tony’s breath hitches at that, and he loses the small bit of composure he has. 

“Well, get to it then! Take off your clothes, I’ve been picturing you naked since the day I met you!” Steve hastily starts stripping, shirt tossed somewhere unimportant and pants and boxers left in a pile by the side of the bed. 

He climbs on top of Tony, who flails uncoordinatedly until he finds the handle of the bedside table’s drawer, fishing out a barely-used bottle of lube. 

“Ty and I didn’t do this too often, I want you to take your time,” Tony whispers to him, bringing their lips together in a kiss. 

“I haven’t done this very often either,” Steve half-lies. He’s about to lose his virginity, but saying that might make Tony freak out and he really doesn’t want that. They’re both half-hard, and Tony looks up at him fondly, brushing an errant strand of hair out of Steve’s face. 

“You’re a virgin, you mean?” 

Steve blushes and starts stammering. “Well-- I mean  _ technically _ \-- do-- does deepthroating a banana on video during pledge week count?” 

Tony laughs, sitting upright again. “No, no it does  _ not _ count, but I want to see this video. Later, though. For now, don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ll talk you through it. How does that sound, hot stuff?” 

Steve swallows, then nods. Tony lies back down, and tells him to pour out some lube, more than he thinks he’ll need. 

Then, Tony guides Steve’s hand towards his hole, asking him to start with two fingers. This is where Steve first starts to get nervous. 

“Isn’t that too much? What if I hurt you?”

Tony snaps at him, impatient. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I needed sex ed again, even though I’m  _ pushing forty _ and you’re a  _ virgin _ . Be a good boy and do as you’re told, Steven.” 

That makes Steve blush again, the thought of being a  _ good boy _ for Tony. 

Steve pushes two fingers inside, making Tony gasp at the stretch and arch up off the bed. “Move-move your fingers,” Tony says breathily, spreading his legs wider. 

Steve sets a slow pace, tentatively thrusting his fingers in and out, occasionally brushing up against a spot that makes the other man cry out. Tony tells him to add another finger, to go faster, deeper, adjust the angle so he’s nailing Tony’s prostate on every thrust, so Steve obeys, desperate to please. 

The whole time, Steve’s slowly been getting harder, so he tries to wrap his spare hand around his own cock, but Tony notices, and grinds out a, “No, focus on me, you come when I say you do,” so Steve just whines and goes back to working Tony open. 

Just when Steve’s fingers are starting to tire out, Tony abruptly tells him to stop, and to get more lube. Steve groans, excited for the main event but also painfully hard and wishing Tony would stop denying him. 

“If you come before I do, we’re going to have a  _ very  _ interesting second time. All of my whips are handcrafted Italian leather,” Tony threatens, while Steve slicks himself up with the lube and gets into position. 

“Please,” he hears himself beg, already picturing being invited into Tony’s bedroom again.

Tony hooks his legs around Steve’s waist, tugging him closer, and their cocks brush up against each other, making both of them gasp. 

“Fuck me, big boy.” 

Steve thrusts into Tony, revelling in how tight and hot Tony is around his cock, and Tony clenches around him, making him pull back and thrust again. As they settle into a rhythm, Tony’s legs tighten around Steve’s waist, and his arms come up to rest on Steve’s shoulders.

Tony moans, “God, you’re amazing, perfect, can’t believe I waited this long to have you--” but he shows no inclination of finishing or letting Steve finish. 

“Tony, Tony please, please can I come?” Steve pleads, as Tony flips them over to ride Steve’s cock like a dildo, like Steve’s only there for Tony’s pleasure. 

Initially, Steve’s pleas don’t seem to register to Tony, who’s bouncing up and down on Steve’s cock, hands on Steve’s chest for leverage, head thrown back in ecstacy. There’s nothing he can do but lie back, moan, and enjoy the ride. Eventually, Tony leans down, capturing his lips in a kiss, catching his bottom lip with his teeth. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Steve groans again, willing off his impending orgasm for the third time this evening. He doesn’t know how much more he can take. 

Tony speeds up, pushing Steve against the headboard, and grinding himself down into Steve’s lap. “Gimme your hand,” he demands, grabbing Steve’s wrist and bringing it to his cock. Through the haze in his sexed-out brain, something clicks for Steve, and he wraps his hand loosely around Tony’s length, giving it one, two strokes, which is enough to push Tony over the edge. 

The other man comes messily between them, spend dripping down both of their chests. 

“Please?” Steve asks again, hoping he’s satisfied Tony enough to be allowed to finish. 

“Hmm? Whassit-- oh, oh how rude of me, of course. Take what you need, stud.” Tony sighs satisfiedly, making himself comfortable in Steve’s lap. 

Steve moans, thrusting up into Tony’s hole, unsatisfied with the angle. “Tony,  _ please,  _ just do something sexy, c’mon, I can’t--”

“Oh, you want me to  _ do something sexy,  _ do you?” Tony gives him a wicked grin, then leans closer to him and  _ Jesus, Mary and Joseph _ , licks up Steve’s chest, tasting salt and bitter come, then bites one of Steve’s very, very perky nipples. 

The sight makes Steve moan again, and Tony smiles at him. “Been wanting to do  _ that _ for a while too, ever since you fell into the pool your first day.” 

He whines, high in his throat, bucking his hips, seeking any kind of pleasure he can, while Tony whispers filthy things into his ear and remains completely unhelpful. 

“I know you liked the idea of whips, but I don’t think you’ve earned yourself any sort of punishment. Too bad, because I’d  _ love _ to see your back all done-up with markings. I’m very coordinated, it’d be a perfect lattice.”

Steve’s short of breath, his head’s swimming with the visuals that Tony’s painting in his mind -- he can see himself spread-eagle on the bed, Tony in full control, putting him in his place.

“Or, I could handcuff you. I’ve got this  _ lovely _ set of lambskin cuffs that I commissioned, and I’d just keep you here, in bed with me. Could you imagine? A weekend in bed, me hand-feeding you grapes and riding you until you forgot your name, only letting you out of your cuffs when I wanted you to fuck me?” 

He tries to moan, but Tony cuts him off with a kiss. He can’t even think, the only thing that matters to him right now is what Tony wants from him, and how he can please Tony. 

“But what  _ I’d _ love to do is show you off. Get you all dressed up, take you out to a gala, attended by all those people that I hate, and drag you off into a spare room and  _ defile _ you. You’d bend me over a chaise lounge and have me screaming for you, and people would come looking, of course. They’d walk in and see you and I ruining some poor socialite’s sitting room. The scandalized gasps, you’d be the topic of society gossip for  _ weeks _ . I can picture your blush, you’d be so embarrassed to be caught, but you’d  _ love it _ , wouldn’t you?” 

Steve nods, desperate. He’s so close, all Tony needs to do is tell him to--

“Come for me, honey.”

Steve does. 

***

He blinks, and he sees Tony lifting himself off of his cock, come dripping down the inside of Tony’s thighs. 

He blinks again, and he sees Tony on top of him again, and feels a warm, damp washcloth wiping him down. 

He blinks a third time, and Tony’s there, wearing a robe, holding a bottle of… wine? There’s also a wooden board with a bunch of fruit on it on the nightstand. He sits up and stares openly at it, wondering what’s going on. 

“Oh so  _ now _ you decide to focus, when I bring you a charcuterie board and a vintage port,” Tony teases. 

“A shar-what?” That word was too many syllables, especially after  _ that _ . Also, probably not English. 

Tony beams at him. “You’re adorable, try some Stilton,” he holds out a cube of cheese to Steve, who takes a nibble of it, and then goes back for the entire cube once he decides that it’s the best thing he’s ever put in his mouth. 

Steve takes a look at the other things on the wooden board, spotting absolutely nothing that he recognizes. “Is that ham?” He says, pointing to a pile of thinly-sliced meat. 

“Pastrami, but close enough.” He lets Tony feed him tiny pieces of exotic meats, cheeses, fruits, and bread, enjoying the closeness and intimacy of it. Then, Tony pours him a glass of red wine, which he gladly accepts and downs quickly. The tart, acidic wine washes down the richness of the cheeses and meat he’d had earlier, and he sets his empty glass on the bedside table. 

“Do you want anything else?” Tony asks, for the first time sounding unsure of himself. “Charcuterie is usually an aperitif, not an entire course. I’m not sure even  _ I  _ could convince Ana and Jarvis to cook for us this late, but we should have leftovers.” 

The only thing that Steve’s craving right now is comfort food. Usually he’d try and rein in his… less than refined tastes in front of Tony, but his filter is completely down, which is why he asks, “Can we get Taco Bell? I have UberEats on my phone.” 

Tony blinks at him. “What the fuck is a Taco Bell?” 

Now’s one of the rare moments when Steve knows something that Tony doesn’t. “It’s the best food you’ll ever eat.” 

***

Tony stares at the slightly-damp paper-wrapped cylinders, half-circles, and hexagons in front of him. Steve, however, is digging in, and encouraging him to try something. 

“Do you know what you want?” says Steve, devouring a small bowl of something he calls “cheesy fiesta potatoes,” which is a bastardization of aligot if Tony’s ever seen one. 

“No, I don’t know what I want, because I’ve never been to this _ fine establishment, _ apparently, despite living three miles from it for over a decade!” Tony is seething, he cannot believe he let Steve sweet-talk him into this. They’ll need to have a talk about his manipulative tendencies. 

“Do-- Do you think that the one that we ordered from is the  _ only _ Taco Bell in existence?” 

“There’s more than one of these… bacchanalian dens of hedonism?” 

“It’s a chain restaurant, Tony. They’re all over the world at this point.” And this is the last straw for him. He refuses to believe that the existence of Taco Bell is being inflicted upon billions of people every day. 

“I’m going to forget you told me that, because if I don’t, then I can’t be held responsible for what I do,” he says, reasonably. 

Steve pokes him on the nose and tells him to try a “crunch-wrap,” which is one of the hexagons. Tony closes his eyes and pretends that he’s somewhere like Alinea, about to try one of their experimental molecular gastronomy offerings. Surely this can’t be any stranger than frozen crab bisque or mango spaghetti. 

He takes a small bite, hesitant. The tortilla is… fine. It’s not the best he’s ever had but it’s fine. Steve rolls his eyes at him though, and tells him to “stop being dramatic”. 

“I’m not dramatic,  _ you’re  _ dramatic,” he says, and to prove it, he shoves half of the “crunch-wrap” into his mouth and swallows it, reaching for one of the radioactive neon-colored slush nightmares that Steve had gotten as drinks, ominously referred to as a “freeze.” 

He expects to gag at the taste, but it, to his immense shock, is okay. Maybe even more than okay. The beef is cooked (overdone, but cooked), the cheese is melted (it’s nothing like actual Mexican cheese but it’s fine), and the lettuce is crisper than he expected (though still not as crisp as it would be in any of his usual eateries). It’s certainly not  _ good _ , but it’s edible, and it was fast and inexpensive. The driver for this ‘UberEats’ endeavor didn’t even factor in gratuity into their check.

He still  _ did _ give them a small tip, only $1,200. What’s the use of having a server if you don’t establish a rapport with them? Steve said that he was being ridiculous, and that they’d probably have a different server next time, but Tony doesn’t care.

Steve looks at him smugly. “I told you it would be good.”

Tony scowls at him. “It’s not  _ good _ , this is not the kind of food you eat for pleasure. However, I will concede that it is in fact, edible.” He takes a sip of the ‘freeze’ drink, which is a garish teal color, like Tiffany Blue developed a nicotine addiction, and chokes on it. 

“What in God’s name is this?” He demands, looking to Steve for answers. 

“A Baja Blast Mountain Dew slushie.” 

Tony is fluent in three languages and conversational in another four, but Steve had just spoken using none of them. “Say that again, this time using normal words.”

Steve thinks for a moment, and it’s deafeningly silent in their bedroom for the entire three seconds. 

“It’s supposed to be lime-flavored, I think.”

“ _ LIME? _ ” Tony is so close to kicking Steve out of their bedroom. He’s experienced too much in too short a span of time. “I  _ made you _ a cuba libre, you  _ know _ what lime is supposed to taste like, and this isn’t it.” 

Steve just smiles at him. “But you admit that it’s edible?”

Tony narrows his eyes at Steve, and points at another crunch-wrap. “I’m going to save one of these, have Jarvis deconstruct it, and then create something like this that’s actually good.”

The other man helps him clear the bed of their late-night culinary sampler, stashing the remains inside Tony’s built-in wine fridge next to the walk-in closet, and they climb into bed together, settling underneath the plush fleece blanket and on top of the cool silk sheets. Feeling spontaneous, Tony gives Steve’s cheek a quick kiss.

“What was that for?” Steve whispers to him, smiling. 

“Nothing, I just love you.” Tony whispers back. 

Steve kisses his forehead and wraps his arms around Tony, spooning him. “I love you too.”

Tony falls asleep with Steve nestled behind him, and the memory of how Steve looks when he comes dancing behind his eyes. He’s sure he’ll have pleasant dreams tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next fic that I'm gonna post will be a fill for the Cap-IM Tiny Reverse Bang, and then I have a couple of WIPs that I'm working on, namely another RhodeyTony college AU and a longer one about Steve and Tony being a domestic power couple. Also, I'm moving into my apartment this week and gearing up to start college again, fun times!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr as [theotherwasdeath!](theotherwasdeath.tumblr.com)


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